Better Days

I live for thinking of better days, gazing backwards at regrets now past the haze of things a mind may fabricate or forget. The best times behind, I say, are what let good times roll on unbidden, even when history’s rewritten with nostalgia writ over the pain and the trials, and the sin and the shame. We all play this game, catch ourselves in a bluff that perception isn’t reality, but it seems close enough to the likes of us, and our vanity. How can we not take this power of God’s and paint earth with our face and the sky with our thoughts, cannily, to resist realer daydreams than heaven or Oz to not live in a world that’s what we think it ought be? It seems that delusion’s a symptom of sanity.