When Corners Watch Back

Mornings in the room

begin earlier than humans think.

Light arrives quietly.

It always pretends

to reveal everything.

But the corners remain.

Today, the little human

walked past me a fraction slower than usual.

Not much.

Just a moment.

But a moment -

is where doubts live.

He looked.

Not at me. At the corner.

And corners sometimes

look back.

The week has reached the point

where rushing tires first.

Maybe that’s why today

he didn’t feel so alone.

Two socks lay on the floor.

Still mismatched.

He stopped.

Looked at the corner.

Out of the corner of my eye,

I saw his gaze wobble.

And for a moment, I wondered:

Was he looking at me?

Or just searching for

the second sock?

Humans often look for what

they can explain.

And what they cannot -

they pretend not to notice.

Humans don’t like shapes

that have no name.

If you call it “chair” - calm.

If you call it “shadow” - still calm.

But if you cannot say what it is…

then you start to think.

I did nothing.

I was neither worm

nor snake.

Just a shape.

Small does not mean weak.

Long does not mean dangerous.

Unnamed does not mean nonexistent.

Finally, he bent down.

Picked up only one sock.

The other stayed.

I remained.

And between us

the same question still hung.

Sometimes it’s enough not to be seen.

It’s enough to be

a possibility.

Notes by Mr. Monsterʘʘ