When you play life's hands at several hundred days per blink, it's easy to forget what's in the discard pile. The passage of time has rendered many of my life's most charming details to the scrapheap. And as I thumb through my discard pile, I realise what hands have been spent and can never be drawn back. Many of these, I wish could have been played differently. But nostalgia is expensive and regret is unaffordable. And as I place the discard pile back facing down, the only ethos left is to do the best with what I have.
