Why do we have hundreds of screenshots and photos haunting the depths of our phones? My storage is cluttered with hundreds of screenshots that I know, with almost complete certainty, I will never look at again. Some are testaments to moments of laughter, others are reminders that I swear I would remember, and several are random encapsulations of times I can barely recall.

Over time, these button clicks accumulate into a distant digital archive of my life, a repository of fleeting interests, half-formed intentions and moments I am unwilling to let slip from my grasp. Something that doesn’t quite resemble a collection of memories, but not yet as inconsequential as clutter. It becomes an in-between that makes me ponder the fine line that separates documentation from accumulation. Somewhere in that accumulation, larger questions persist about whether or not preserving everything deepens one’s knowledge or buries memories under the sheer volume of stuff we refuse to forget.

• the random screenshot you are definitely going to revisit

A restaurant recommendation. You check the Google page for the hours of operation and take a screenshot for future reference. Maybe you want to send it to a friend later, or are convinced that within the next three weeks you will feel an unstoppable pull to this restaurant. Thank goodness for the screenshot! A screenshot that exists among hundreds already buried in your camera roll! A screenshot you will definitely remember you have! You will probably just use Google again. But what if you need it someday? And just like that, a completely mundane piece of information earns its permanent position in your phone.

• the parking spot photo

Row C, level four next to the second big blue pillar from the elevator. It is not even that big of a parking garage, but hey! You can never be too sure. This picture becomes extremely useful for the exact thirty-seven minutes it takes for you to get into the mall and return that sweater. Somehow the picture from this mundane activity is still taking up storage in your phone two years later. You just didn’t care to, or simply forgot to, delete it.

• the sunset photo

The pink and purple cascades in the sky last night were exceptionally beautiful, so naturally you took nine nearly identical photos. One is slightly brighter. One catches the clouds in the picture better. One has the sun in exactly the right spot. Maybe. You can’t really tell the difference. So you keep all nine. Somehow choosing only one photo admits that the other eight versions of the same memory somehow hold less value in your heart. So you don't choose! And, of course, you never look at them again. Maybe you post one on your Instagram story, leaving the other eight untouched. Nevertheless, they will all sit neglected among hundreds of other sunset photos that you’ve accumulated over the years. 

• the blurry concert photo

Even if you don’t know what is happening in the photo. Is that a vague selfie or an unintentional flash photo of Olivia Dean zoomed into oblivion? Who knows? None of it really resembles what you saw, felt, and heard during the actual concert. Still, deleting the picture feels like the removal of a pivotal memory in your life. Or maybe you just wanted to prove you were there. Hey, you paid for the ticket! You can do whatever you want. 

• the group photo

Posting prom photos is one of the most stressful tasks I can envision. The shared album keeps pinging, and the overstimulation causes you to just save every photo. One of them has to be good. Coordinating a group is always difficult as well; someone is looking away, blinking, or the camera angle is just not right. You go back and choose the best two for your Instagram post, and the rest stay for memories. Fifteen of the photos look identical. Your camera roll becomes less of a collection of memories and more of an archive for every possible draft you can have of the night. 

• the fit check

The lighting is good, and the perfectly curated outfit encapsulates your vibe to a tee. One quick mirror selfie, and you will be out the door. Except it is never that simple. The camera dulls the lighting, or your expression is slightly off. Nevertheless, the photo is too casual to share online and not important enough to reference in the future. Still, it stays on your phone, preserved indefinitely, taking up storage as a moment that will never be alluded to again. 

All of this to say, the digital junk drawer is so strange. Mundane photos that aren’t important enough to revisit still feel too consequential to delete. They linger in the space between memory and clutter. But when everything is saved, the genuine moments get buried and blurred beneath restaurant screenshots and nine versions of the same photo. So next time, ask yourself if a photo is worth saving. Or don't. I know that the next time I see a particularly good sunset, I will probably take nine photos.

And I will probably keep all nine.