I stumbled upon an interesting photographer yesterday, Alexander Bergstrom.  As I clicked through his fine art gallery, I could feel the hollowness of the images intruding on my mind’s eye, penetrating my soul.

It wasn’t the nudity, but the detachness that disturbed me. The photographs are beautiful, but so emotionally removed. They remind me of someone I know, and of how little I know them.

As I look at the images, it feels like I am looking at somebody else’s memories.

It’s a relief to know they are not mine.

Alien, alienated. That's me.

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