I don’t remember when it started taking up so much space.
That’s the part that bothers me most.
If someone asked me, I would say it started as curiosity.
And I guess that’s true.
At first, it was curiosity.
I’d read something.
Watch a video.
Find a word I didn’t know.
Nothing seemed particularly important.
The strange thing is that it never stopped there.
There was always something else.
Another article.
Another story.
Another tab.
As if everything was connected by some invisible thread.
I remember one specific night.
Nothing special happened.
That’s exactly what I remember.
The mug was sitting beside the computer.
There was still steam coming from it when I sat down.
When I looked at it again, it was cold.
I don’t remember finishing the coffee.
I don’t remember checking the time.
I only remember continuing to read.
And coming back.
And continuing.
For a long time I thought the content itself was what attracted me.
Now I’m not so sure.
Because sometimes I’m not even reading anything new.
I’m reading something similar.
Something I already know.
Something whose conclusion I already understand.
And yet I come back.
I don’t think it’s the answer I’m looking for.
I think it’s something else.
Something harder to explain.
There is a moment.
Always the same moment.
The second just before opening another tab.
Before typing another search.
Before telling myself it will only be five minutes.
That moment interests me more than anything I find afterward.
That’s the part I don’t understand.
I’m not even sure it’s excitement anymore.
At first it was.
A curiosity mixed with excitement that came and went.
Now it’s different.
Quieter.
More constant.
Harder to name.
Sometimes I close everything.
Really close it.
Turn off the screen.
Stand up.
Do something else.
And for a while I feel something close to relief.
As if I had taken control back.
The victory never lasts long.
Because a few hours later I catch myself thinking about returning.
Not to something specific.
Not to an image.
Not to a story.
To returning.
And that difference makes me uncomfortable.
The screen is off.
I can see myself reflected in the black glass.
For a second it feels like I’m looking at someone waiting for a decision.
And I don’t know which one of us is waiting.
I used to think the question was why I kept coming back.
Now I think that was never the real question.
The real question is which part of me has already decided to return before I notice it.
The mug is still beside the computer.
It’s cold.
I know because I touch it.
Not because I remember when it stopped being warm.
I need to move my neck.
I think about it.
I wait another second.
And then I notice something strange.
I’m not waiting to move it.
I’m waiting to feel like the decision is mine.
I have to move the neck there is no neck I should…
