Sun shoots into my eyes. Strong and proud and shooting straight. Straight into my eyes. Golden sun, you’re dropping fast. And the whole of Santorini watches your descent. Drop. Drop. Dripping your rays. People gather beneath the blue domed roofs of Oia. They are the golden type who gather. The type who steal your rays. Steal them and snap them shut inside their cameras. And I’m one of them. But I’ve come to realise that beauty like this cannot be tucked inside and taken home.