Why This Exists
A few photos. Not enough of them.
My dad’s name was Joe.
He died when I was twelve.
I don’t have enough photos of him.
Just ordinary ones.
A couch.
A driveway.
A backyard.
Nothing important seems to be happening.
Those turned out to be the important ones.
Nobody knew they were taking the important ones.
That’s the problem.
The archive exists for everything that happens before anyone realizes it matters.