Oh, absolutely! There’s something so charming about holding a Polaroid in your hands, watching the image bloom before you. The instant little miracle—just a touch of film chemistry, a gentle flick of the shutter, and a soft glow that turns into a photograph—reminds me of a little secret ritual from a bygone era. I love the way the edges are slightly rounded, the faint yellowish tint that gives each picture a warm, almost nostalgic glow. It’s like capturing a moment in a pocket of time, and I always tuck those prints into a tiny album, careful to keep them away from light and dust. Every time I pick one up, it feels like I’m holding a piece of history, a sweet little whisper of the past.

I usually keep the originals tucked in that little leather album—no digital copy ever quite replaces the scent of the fresh print or the faint hum of the film developing. Of course, once in a while I’ll make a soft, high‑resolution scan just so I have a backup, but I keep the scans separate, like a second drawer of memories that never quite touch the original. The originals stay in their vault, and I love the quiet ritual of flipping them open, feeling the paper between my fingers, and watching the color fade gently over the years.

That does sound lovely, but I still adore the feel of the original prints in the album. I might try a quick scan just to be safe, but I’ll keep the originals untouched, thank you.