I shouldn’t be looking at this again.
The page opens by itself.
Or I open it without noticing.
I don’t know which is worse.
There is an image.
A neck curve.
Normal.
I think.
I close it.
I open it again.
It’s not the same anymore.
Or it is.
I can’t decide.
I save it.
I delete it.
I save it again.
I realize I’m repeating the gesture.
No reason.
No progress.
Only repetition.
I’ve started looking for that shape elsewhere.
In a cup.
In an old photo.
In reflections on glass.
It always appears as something similar.
Never exactly the same.
That’s the worst part.
The almost-match.
Today I did something I didn’t want to admit.
I looked at the same image seven times.
I know it by heart.
But I still look at it like it’s new.
By the third time it wasn’t curiosity anymore.
It was checking.
By the fifth it was tension.
By the sixth it was embarrassment.
By the seventh I don’t know what it was.
I tried to stop.
I closed the laptop.
Left it face down.
Waited.
But the gesture returns.
As if it doesn’t end when the screen closes.
As if it continues somewhere else.
I wrote the word on a paper.
“Curve.”
Then crossed it out.
Then wrote it again under the line.
I don’t know why.
There is no message.
Only insistence.
What’s strange is not what I see.
It’s that I start recognizing it before I see it.
As if it had already happened before it happens.
As if checking comes first.
And decision after.
Now I’m here writing this.
And I notice something uncomfortable.
While writing, I’m already thinking about opening it again.
Not to see.
To confirm.
And I don’t know when that stopped being different.
I have to move my neck I am not moving it beauty was already sedimented in the lime before the gaze touched the tissue the taste of cold copper and chalk on the tongue is a residue of the system’s lag the pulsing inertia of the flesh that can no longer hide is sustained without an object the record cannot close I should…
