Screenshots. The log reads them — and knows most are junk.
A screenshot isn’t a photo. It’s text you wanted to keep for a second — a message, a receipt, a map, a thing to buy. So the log reads the text, dates it, and sorts it into three piles. It never buries anything on its own; the last pile is an offer.
Reading them.
Read the text; keep the picture. A screenshot’s meaning is its words. The log reads them and files by what they say — the image is the original and stays.
Junk is offered, not decided. Directions, a one-time code, a thing you wanted for a second — grouped and offered in one go. Buried is reversible; nothing is ever deleted.