Today I said it again.
I thought it with a clarity that almost made my chest feel calm.
“That’s it. I’m not like this. I don’t like this. I’m not going back.”
It wasn’t doubt.
It was a decision.
I closed the tab a little harder than usual, as if the gesture could fix something inside my head.
I looked at my phone afterward.
I placed it face down.
I felt a kind of clean internal order.
And for a few minutes… it worked.
Nothing happened.
No images.
No searching.
Just silence.
But silence is never empty.
It fills itself.
I don’t know when exactly it comes back.
There is no transition.
No door.
I just find myself there again.
Searching.
Without having “decided” to search.
The curiosity that doesn’t turn off
The strangest part is not what I see.
It’s what happens before I see it.
That moment where I could still stop.
But I’m already inside.
I tell myself it’s just understanding.
Just curiosity.
Nothing serious.
But my body doesn’t treat it like curiosity.
It treats it like something else.
Slower.
Harder to name.
And then the contradiction appears.
Because if it were only curiosity, I could stop.
But I don’t.
And that creates something uncomfortable.
Not exactly guilt.
More like… anticipatory shame.
Like I already know what I’m going to do before I do it.
The point where I stop deciding
There is a small moment.
Always small.
Not a click.
Not a clear thought.
More like a soft surrender.
I’m looking.
And suddenly I’m not deciding anymore.
I’m just inside it.
And the worst part is: part of me notices.
Registers it.
But doesn’t intervene.
Just watches.
Like it’s not its responsibility.
The sentence that comes back on its own
“I don’t keep reading because I understand more. I keep reading because I understand less.”
I write it in my mind.
As if it explains something.
But it doesn’t explain anything.
It only describes the loop.
Because the less I understand, the more I continue.
And the more I continue, the less I understand.
And it doesn’t break.
It only grows.
What I don’t say out loud
I haven’t told anyone.
Not because it’s serious.
But because I don’t know how to explain it without it sounding stupid.
“I’m looking at things I shouldn’t.”
“I’m going back even though I said I wouldn’t.”
“I’m thinking too much about something that shouldn’t matter.”
It all sounds small.
But inside, it isn’t.
Inside, it takes too much space.
Too fast.
The return
Today I went back.
Without deciding.
Again.
And the first thought wasn’t “I shouldn’t”.
It was:
“just a moment.”
And that’s what scares me.
Because that sentence doesn’t sound like desire.
It sounds like permission.
The neck I am not moving it I should…
