I’m sitting alone beside my open window and watching the red roof of a neighbor’s house. Two pigeons flew. One is gray and the other is brown, two pigeons in love.
Pigeons prefer roofs. They meet on them and they kiss each other.
Their love is gentle and mild. He’s gray, she’s brown. Or maybe she’s gray, he’s brown? Who would know? And does it matter?
They love each other and the whole world is under them. Nothing else do not exist for them.
People are passing on the street.
They think only of themselves in the armor of their ego out of which everything is unknown, wary and foreign. Pigeons descend sometimes beside the people to see how they run their battles with each other and as they speak:
People, love each other, see us, we are happy!