When I first discovered my interest in street photography, I took a good number of photos of the homeless. They seemed everywhere and I found photos of their condition personally captivating. The looks on their faces -- in their eyes -- showed a lack of hope that seemed so human. Change a few events in our own pasts, and many of us might be in the same plight.

I eventually stopped taking pictures of the homeless, or at least now only rarely and only with a deeper purpose. What I realized was that my photos were not really capturing their character nor their stories which were certainly more complex than an empty stare or pitiful living condition could reveal. And I didn't -- and still don't -- have the temerity to engage with them to better learn and appreciate who they were, who they are, and where they are going. Someday I hope to gain that bravery in my photography.

This is a photo series that I call "Val." That's what I called her. I don't know her name, I never spoke to her, she never spoke to me. She never asked anything of me. And I never offered. I never once saw her react or interact with the real world but she was always occupied with things only she could see or hear. Over the course of a couple of years, she and I lived in the same neighborhood: She, on the sidewalks of a local shopping center I frequented in Oakland; Me, in an expensive house among other expensive houses in a town with manicured lawns, good schools, and responsive police. That was back in 2014 or so. A few years later, that shopping center was torn down and later rebuilt. I wondered where Val had gone during that time. I expected to never see her again. Several years later after the new center was complete, I spotted her again. This time sitting in the nicer version of the shopping center, at a nicer Starbucks. She looked the same, still in her own world. I hoped her world was a little nicer than what it appeared to be. I still remained silent.