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.