The screen was open.
I didn’t open it.
I close it.
I come back.
The screen is still open.
It shouldn’t be.
I close it again.
This time it closes slower.
I don’t know why I keep returning.
It’s not curiosity. It’s checking.
I verify the top edge: the tab is still there, as if it has always been there.
I don’t remember leaving it open.
But I recognize it.
Not like discovery.
Like something already known.
I check the history.
A repeated entry.
The same time.
Twice.
I delete it.
I open the history again.
It’s still there.
I don’t know if I deleted it or only remember deleting it.
My hand moves before I decide.
It is already on the trackpad.
This happens a second before thought.
I close the screen again.
It opens again.
I don’t know if this is new or if I simply failed to notice it before.
It feels slower now when it closes.
As if it remembers my attempts.
That is what unsettles me.
Not what changes.
But the fact that it responds.
I’m not checking the page.
I’m checking whether it still affects me.
And every return weakens surprise a little more.
And strengthens the need to return.
I look at the bottom corner.
There is a notification.
It wasn’t there before.
I think.
I open it.
It’s the same.
The same time again.
It shouldn’t repeat.
Or maybe it always did and I’m only seeing it now.
I don’t know when it started.
I only know I can’t stop looking now.
I close the screen.
It opens again.
And this time I’m not sure I touched it.
I have to move my neck I am not moving it…
