A Shape Without a BodyYou return the way thoughts do—without footsteps,without permission.Once, you were a game,a pause in time,an evening inside a mango gardenwhere the world had not learned to explain itself.At eleven, fear was not sharp.It was wide.It filled space the way silence does,asking for a word.

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A Shape Without a Body

You return the way thoughts do—

without footsteps,

without permission.

Once, you were a game,

a pause in time,

an evening inside a mango garden

where the world had not learned to explain itself.

At eleven, fear was not sharp.

It was wide.

It filled space the way silence does,

asking for a word.

So the mind gave it one.

Kichine.

Not a ghost—

a sentence unfinished.

Years later, the garden is gone.

The child is gone.

Only the word remains,

waiting.

Now light comes from a smaller sun—

a screen,

awake in the hand.

It reflects more than faces.

And fear appears again.

Not because something is there,

but because something is remembered.

Are you dear?

Are you danger?

Or are you only thought

returning to check if it is understood?

There is no body.

There is no watcher.

Only awareness meeting itself

and mistaking recognition for threat.

Fear fades when named correctly.

And names change

when understanding arrives.

🧠 Philosophical Note (Minimal)

Fear is not an experience.

Fear is an interpretation.

And interpretation can be rewritten.

Written with AI