There is something that doesn’t fit.
Not in the screen.
In the gesture.
I open the tab.
I think it was already open.
I close it.
I’m not sure I closed it.
I open it again.
More slowly this time.
As if that would change anything.
I start suspecting something small.
I don’t know if the tab changes.
Or if something in me changes every time I look at it.
That shouldn’t matter.
But it starts to matter before I think it does.
The cup is next to the keyboard.
I don’t remember moving it today.
But it’s not the first time I look at it.
I touch it.
Cold.
It’s not the cup that is strange.
It’s that I check it without fully deciding to.
I go back to the tab.
Close it again.
And it is open again.
Or it looks like it is.
I start doing something different.
I don’t close to close.
I close to see if I close.
And that changes everything.
I start suspecting something worse.
I am not checking the tab.
But I still cannot say what I am checking.
There is something strange about things that depend on me.
Not the things I look at.
The things I have to initiate.
The neck.
I don’t know why it appears now.
But it fits.
Too well.
I try to move it.
I think it.
But before I think it, it is already slightly moved.
That is not the important part.
The important part is that I no longer know if I initiated it.
The tab is still open.
Or I am opening it again now.
I don’t know if I am writing this to explain it.
Or to check something simpler.
If I can still stop.
And the worst part is that I don’t know if writing it is proof that I can.
Or proof that I already continued.
I have to move the neck I am not moving it I should…
