I wish I could pick and choose,
sift the golden moments from the silt,
and disgard the less valuable.
I wish I could blot them out,
scratch ink across heartache,
and let the errors fade to smudges.
I wish I could clutch them tight,
weave a blanket of comfort,
and forge a tapastry of the brightest.
I wish I knew them as they came,
which to greet warmly, despite appearance,
and which to guard myself against.
I wish I had a choice,
between the riches I have squandered
and the spirits that will haunt me.
I wish they were more than what they are,
lingering reminants of the past,
and the time could rewind itself.