Where We Almost Were III

Each figure is barely there—a coat, a tilt of the head, a hint of motion through the trees. Faces melt into grain; outlines stretch like memory seen underwater. This is not anonymity—it’s universality. The forest transforms each walker into a liminal being: walking between realities, slipping across frames like thoughts between sleep and wake.

Susan Sontag wrote, “All photographs are memento mori.” But here, photography resists stillness. The blur insists on life—that the subject has moved on. And you are left behind, watching. Each photo is a missed encounter, a second too late, a life you almost met but never will. This is not a loss. This is the presence of absence.