I know that ill-spoken words can hurt; thoughtless - and sometimes deliberate - words not only sting when said, but, unlike most physical wounds, leave a searing scar which even years fail to erase.
The same applies to the written word as well, but perhaps there is something cathartic when the offending missive can be crumpled into a ball and ceremoniously discarded into a nearby waste basket or flushed down a toilet. Digital damage falls someplace between the spoken word and the written word: pressing DELete can be satisfying, but it lacks the impact that can be achieved by discarding with vigor an offending missive.
"You've changed," my correspondent noted. "You used to make smart remarks, calling me 'grace' when I stumbled."
I had not intended to offend; my remark was made in at least "semi" jest; words which I apply equally to myself - indeed, I am often more severe with myself than with others, even "in jest."
I didn't know until today that what I thought was, at worst, a teasing remark was perceived by the hearer to be "as a sliver of obsidian."
That it was - is - became evident when the word came back to haunt me 30-some years after it was spoken.
Words, said in jest, in anger, in any and all modes, once spoken never can be fully retrieved.
My very delinquent apology may be accepted, but I know the scar remains.
* From The Three Sisters: A Charlie Moon Mystery by James D. Doss, St. Martin's Press, ISBN-13: 9780312364595 http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Three-Sisters/James-D-Doss/e/9780312364595/#EXC
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