I used to think the strange part was what I was reading.
Now I think the strange part was something else.
The ease.
Last night I picked up my phone to set an alarm.
That was all.
I even remember the time.
2:13 a.m.
Because I remember thinking it was late.
Because I remember thinking I would be tired tomorrow.
Because I remember thinking that this time I was only going to do the thing I picked up the phone to do.
The alarm is set.
I checked this morning.
So at some point I did it.
I just don’t remember when.
That’s what bothered me.
Not that I came back.
That I lost the exact moment I came back.
There’s a difference.
I used to think the question was why I ended up there.
Now I think the question is different.
Why does part of me seem to know before I do?
The cup was beside the computer.
There was still coffee in it.
I touched it.
Cold.
I didn’t remember letting it get cold.
For a few seconds I just stared at it.
Not because of the cup.
Because of what it meant.
Time had passed.
Quite a lot of it.
And I couldn’t really say where my attention had been during all that time.
That bothered me more than anything else.
Because I still call it curiosity.
And curiosity is supposed to feel like a decision.
Something you choose.
Something you pursue.
This doesn’t feel like that.
It feels more like recognizing a road.
Like walking home and suddenly realizing you’ve been moving for ten minutes without consciously thinking about any of the turns.
The strange thing is that if someone asked me, I would still say I’m trying to understand it.
But I’m starting to suspect understanding was never the goal.
Because every time I think I’m getting close to an answer, something strange happens.
I come back.
And when I come back, I’m not looking for the same thing anymore.
I’m not even sure I’m looking for anything.
The screen turned itself off.
My reflection appeared in the black glass.
For a second it looked like I was staring at someone waiting for an explanation.
And I didn’t have one.
I need to move my neck.
I think about it.
I wait.
And suddenly I notice something I hadn’t seen before.
I’m not waiting to move it.
I’m waiting for the feeling of moving it to arrive on its own.
As if even a decision that small has to come from somewhere before it reaches me.
I have to move the neck there is no neck I should…
