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.