By taking pictures of what I like to see, do I end up romanticizing the past? My old rooms never come off in photos quite as blah as they were in reality—from some angles, at least.
Maybe it's the past-ness that makes me like the photos, though. Like pictures of yourself, the further back the less real, the more appealing. Time is a great filter.
I'm sure I'd remember it differently without the pictures. I may or may not be curating how my life appears to others, but I certainly have a finger on the scale of my own perception. Me in the present is asserting her viewpoint on me in the future. I'm positioning the window through which I'll be seeing the past. Once I can't remember what's outside the frame, the frame's all there is.