I have a photo of a place I love,
took it before I even knew you existed;
a pathway drenched in the golden, afternoon light
which lead to a small cluster of fragrant orange trees.
We stood at that very spot once,
many years later and took a photo together.
It's long gone but I remember it;
you arms were wrapped around my hips
Holding me delicately, as if I were a treasure.
I was turned slightly, curled in the warmth of
your shoulder, eyes closed as you kissed the
side of my head, on the temple, so sweetly.
Every time I look at that photo,
I imagine us there - ghosts of love
that never blossomed, but had always stayed
sweet - and I smile at what could've been.