Perfumed Filters

We took it, purposively, as a testament

To our very being there, under the sun:

Idle cigarettes, a vacant pose,

Sunglasses, smiles, green of dappled lights

Shadowing us. And there and then, as we captured

The image, you gave it a sepia filter

As though sunlight itself was insufficient

To bring the living memory to life.

So you named us, chose us, shared us presently;

Gave a caption to what had only seconds

Before been a moment of happy wordlessness;

And placed a rose-tinted perfume to the memory

Of a moment from which we had yet to fully awaken.

This is really all about the present generation of insta-nostalgia. Photographs are not relics, or keepsakes. I am unsure what they are, now. 


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