The Photo

I found a photo of us

in my childhood home,

tucked inside the journal

I kept at nineteen.

Locked in the drawer beneath my bed,

where dust had softened the corners

and time had frayed the edge.

Your arms rested on my shoulders,

your gaze still,

skin sunburned at the cheeks—

summer pressed into your face.

I held the picture gently,

afraid to scratch its surface

with the edge of a nail.

And I remembered how it felt—

that endless summer

when we believed

it would always be you and me.

By Jonna Kihlman

From: Sweden

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