What if your memories shattered like a plate, dropped from a kitchen table?
Would the fracture screaming through the porcelain cut through the darkest hours of your life, stopping you from saying those words that killed a flame you had with someone you weren't ready to part with?
Would that break in the chinaware cut through the air, and stop his hand from coming down on your cheek, already stained from your running mascara because of the words he said?
Would these memories have changed?
I think no.
Much like a broken plate, after a certain point, you can't go back to those nights and stop yourself, stop what they did, much like you can't go back to the second when your elbow brushed that plate just enough for it to topple over.
There's not much use in crying over a broken plate, but you can clean up your mess, and get a new one, a better one, and learn, to be more aware, for when that plate is about to fall.