we’re walking through snow, like small children who are friends but still haven’t met yet.
we’re walking on the streets of New York like homeless people looking for a place to sleep.
we’re walking through death, piercing right through it, finding its soft spot.
we’re walking past sadness and its familiarity and say to each other : home.
our homes were always built around our own two feet
and we’ve heard people whisper about the narrowness of our souls.
we’re narrow, small and soft
like yolk or other feathery substances
we’re yellow and blue-eyed
we’re snakes that eat birds and then just want to nest.
pictures taken by Ionut Sterpan in Fairfax, VA