Whip lashed

Everytime she looks at him, she sees her youth. Moments as sweet as innocence, and moments as bitter as regret. The years scattered forever, never gathered, never regained. In doubt, and full of second thoughts, but never revisiting her past. Or maybe visiting, but never staying, fleetingly glancing at where she could've taken a different turn. In all her remorse, she only blames herself. Always the quickest lashing falls upon her back. The whip so thick and unforgiving, falling harder with every passing minute, with every passing thought.
The anger building up, enough to blow a scorching hole in the ruthless heart, but always held back by another heart; ruthless as much but tender still, hope renewed with every beat, and every breath.
She slowly fades and blends again. Is hatred possible where there was once love? She looks ahead and through his head.
His face is masked; his eyebrows meet. His lips in a straight line. She shakes this look and tries to forget, that it's her he's looking at with all this contempt.
Deep down below, she knows its not true. The memories clash again and once more. Who wins this round, the bitter or the sweet? Who is more true? Who is more you?
Damn you for all you've done and can still do.
And damn her, for falling a victim to you.
And the whip falls harder with every passing minute, with every passing thought.......