A Mind’s Fragile Trick

I’ve been holding you
in my memory like a Ming vase,
when in fact you were
the golden calf who trashed
the china shop.
Somehow I recall you
as a clear August day,
when in fact
you were the remaining dust
of an Autumn leaf.
When I think back
you are the buried treasure,
when in fact
you were the dirt
and the hole left behind.
If I reflect to the then
you were the true blue,
when in fact
it feels better today
if I lie to myself.
Life will be so much smoother
when I learn to get the facts straight.