Final Frame

Golden hour on the harbor,

everybody lifts a phone.

Two hundred little suns going down in two hundred little screens.

I took mine too,

I always do — four thousand and nineteen.

Delete them later, later,

later — or maybe never do.

The moment doesn't need a folder.

The moment needs you.

(yeah, oh-oh)

There's a photo of this evening somewhere in the cloud with the

rest.

But I remember how the bread was warm,

and that's the one I kept.

My storage has been full for years.

So is my heart.

Same thing. Same thing.

Delete them later, later,

later — or maybe never do.

The moment doesn't need a folder.

The moment needs you.

One day someone will find them all —

four thousand sunsets, one per screen — and

wonder if I lived at all.

I did. I did.

Between the photographs,

I did.

Delete them later, later,

later — or maybe never do.

The moment doesn't need a folder.

The moment needs you.

(the moment needs you)