It's like that, sometimes; the past walks up out of the shadows and powerkicks you right in the dick. Metaphorical dick, I mean.
A song, or a scent, the way the light hits the room.
And you have to pretend, to everyone around you, and to yourself. You have to pretend that it doesn't hurt. That the things you did in the past aren't the person you are now. And who you are now is a healed person. You've moved on, you've grown. Character development, the kids call it.
But that doesn't feel right, does it? Because everyone knows that bad guys never change. It isn't a choice, even, that's what it feels like. And no matter how hard you try, you can't change that.
That's what it feels like, just for a second, right? And then it's over, you're back in the present, and you know what?
You really are healed. The past built you up; it isn't who you are, but it helped make you the person you are. A healed person, a loved person, a better person.
A person who needs to stay the hell out of the perfume section at Dillard's in the mall.