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.