I wasn’t going to look at it again.
Not today.
Not again.
I thought it clearly.
Really.
“I already understood it.”
That was the first thought.
It felt closed in my head.
Like a door that finally stopped making noise.
For a few minutes, I even felt something close to relief.
Not excitement yet.
Just calm.
The decision was made.
And yet…
The phone was there.
I didn’t open it immediately.
That’s the strange part.
I stared at the dark screen as if I already knew what was going to happen before I did it.
And then I did it anyway.
Not as impulse.
Not as accident.
As if the gesture had already happened before the decision.
The sentence came back without asking:
I don’t keep reading because I understand more. I keep reading because I understand less.
And it bothered me.
Because it wasn’t a thought anymore.
It was a structure that kept running even when I said no.
I said “I’m not like this.”
I meant it.
But my body didn’t respond to that sentence.
It only ignored it.
I opened it again.
Just a little.
Just to check.
That’s what I told myself.
“Just to check.”
But it wasn’t checking.
It was something else.
Slower.
More uncomfortable.
Harder to admit.
I don’t feel the same as the first time.
That’s what makes it worse.
Curiosity is no longer clean curiosity.
It mixes with something physical.
Something that appears before I can name it.
I notice it too late.
When I’m already inside.
And that’s where the real contradiction appears.
“I don’t want this.”
but I continue.
“I’m not going to do it again.”
but I return.
I don’t keep reading because I understand more.
I keep reading because understanding less starts to take everything over.
I close it.
This time for real.
I stand up.
I walk.
Small things.
Water.
noise.
distance from the screen.
It works.
For a while.
But the sentence doesn’t disappear.
It stays.
As if it doesn’t depend on me.
And that’s what I don’t understand.
Because if I already decided… it should end.
But it doesn’t end.
It doesn’t return as thought.
It returns as possibility.
And possibility weighs more than decision.
I’m not someone who wants this.
I think that too.
Firmly.
But then I remember something worse:
it’s not that I want it.
it’s that it comes back.
without asking.
without promise.
just appearing.
And then the decision is no longer closure.
it’s pause.
I don’t keep reading because I understand more.
I keep reading because understanding less is the only way I know I’m still the same person who said no.
And this time, when I open it again, it’s not curiosity.
It’s checking whether I’m still the one who decided not to.
The neck I am not moving it I should…
