The message appears on the screen.
I didn’t open it.
I think.
I close it.
I open it again.
The first line is still the same.
But now it feels shorter.
As if something is missing between the words.
I check the time.
It has changed.
It shouldn’t have changed.
I close it again.
I open it again.
The time changes again.
Not always the same.
But always different.
I feel my throat when I swallow.
For no reason.
There is nothing to swallow.
Yet it happens.
Like a reflex without an object.
I check the history.
It’s clean.
Too clean.
I close it.
I open it.
Now there is a new entry.
It wasn’t there a second ago.
I think.
Or maybe it was always there without appearing.
I don’t know if I’m discovering it or recognizing it.
That’s what changes.
Not the message.
But my reaction.
My hand moves before the decision.
Again.
Without permission.
Without command.
Only continuity.
I take a screenshot.
There is already another identical one.
I don’t know which one came first.
I don’t know if there was a first.
I close everything.
The screen turns itself back on.
Without me.
Before I even think it.
I have to move my neck I am not moving it the throat was already sedimented in the lime…
