Kings Without Kingdoms

Kings Without Kingdoms Most of us pass the same corners every day. We notice the person sitting there, but only for a second. Long enough to register them. Not long enough to really see them. Our eyes move on. Our pace doesn’t change. It feels normal. It feels harmless. That’s the loop. They wake up outside. They sit. They wait. People pass. Some drop change. Most don’t. Night comes. Then morning again. It keeps going. And so do we. We start to see a label instead of a life. “Homeless.” One word that feels like an explanation. One word that quietly erases everything that came before it, the job they once had, the place they once lived, the people who once called them family, the version of themselves they used to believe in. We don’t mean to throw them away. But over time, we do. We grow used to the sight. We convince ourselves there’s nothing we can do. We tell ourselves it’s complicated. We rehearse those thoughts until they feel true. That’s our loop. Somewhere along the way, we stopped seeing kings who lost their kingdoms and started seeing part of the sidewalk. But they are still here. Still breathing. Still carrying a story. And every time we look away without thinking, the loop tightens , for them, and for us. There are moments when I can feel my mind beginning to circle something, and I already know what is about to happen. It usually starts with something small ,a sentence I wish I had said differently, a look I misread, a mistake that most people would forget within minutes. But my mind doesn’t forget. It rewinds. I replay the moment once, trying to understand it. Then again, trying to fix it. Then again, trying to protect myself from it happening in the future. Before I realize it, the memory is no longer just a memory. It becomes a space I am standing inside. The room around me fades and the thought grows walls. The loop is seamless. There is no clear beginning and no clear end. It just circles back into itself, tightening each time. What was once uncertainty slowly reshapes itself into something heavier , a story about who I am, what I lack, what I might lose. The fear becomes detailed. The doubt gains texture. My body reacts as if the imagined outcome has already arrived. My chest tightens. My breathing changes. My confidence shifts. I hesitate in ways that feel rational but are rooted in something that hasn’t actually happened. That is the strangest part. Nothing is happening in the present moment, yet my nervous system is responding to a future that only exists inside repetition. Anxiety projects possibilities so vividly that they begin to feel like memories. The loop doesn’t scream; it whispers, and because it whispers, I listen more closely. Over time, the repetition becomes familiar. The fear starts to feel grounded, almost logical. I begin, when I stop feeding it, it does not explode or collapse dramatically. It simply quiets. The thought may return tomorrow, or next week, or in another form entirely. But I am beginning to understand that I do not have to live inside every echo my mind creates. I can hear it without entering it. I can notice it without building walls around it. The loop may be perfect. But I am not required to stay inside it.adjusting my decisions around it. I hold back. I shrink. I move carefully. The loop convinces me that it is protecting me, when in reality it is keeping me in place. The more I replay it, the more real it feels. But somewhere between the fourth replay and the fiftieth, there is a subtle shift. I begin to notice that the moment itself has not changed. Only my reaction to it has grown. The loop is powered by attention. It survives because I keep stepping back into it. “We stopped seeing kings who lost their kingdoms and started seeing part of the sidewalk.” AKA Chambo (digital artwork)2025