For a few seconds I thought the cup was closer.
I’m not sure I saw it move.
That’s the strange part.
Not the movement.
But the doubt about whether I saw it or only saw the need to check it.
The cup is on the table.
Or it is “the same”.
I don’t know which version is more reliable.
Because “the same” doesn’t mean the same anymore.
Sometimes I look at it and feel like it isn’t there to be seen.
It’s there to check whether I can still see it without doubting.
That’s the new part.
Not the object.
The function.
I ran my finger across the table again.
The dust doesn’t disappear.
But it doesn’t accumulate either.
It just shifts position as if it remembers where I touched it.
That unsettled me more than usual.
It shouldn’t matter.
But it does.
Because the surface doesn’t feel dirty.
It feels attentive.
As if it is recording.
There are holes in the wall.
Where things used to be.
I don’t remember what things.
Only that they weren’t small.
That’s the only clear part.
Not the object.
The size of the absence.
I tried to ignore the alarm.
But it went off again.
Three minutes early.
I tried to change it.
I couldn’t.
Not because it was difficult.
But because I couldn’t remember the time I wanted.
Only the time that must not appear.
That left me still for a while.
Not as rest.
As an error.
Today I thought about my neck.
Not as movement.
As verification.
I used to think I wanted to move it.
Now I think I wanted to check whether I could still want to move it.
I don’t know when that changed.
Or if it changed.
Sometimes I don’t move it.
And nothing happens.
But “nothing happens” is no longer comforting.
It’s just another way of observing whether something should happen.
I closed the screen several times.
Each time I reopen it without remembering why I closed it.
It’s not forgetting.
It’s continuity without origin.
For a few minutes I thought I had left the room.
I walked into the kitchen.
That’s what I remember.
The cup was there.
I shouldn’t have been surprised.
But I was.
Because I didn’t remember bringing it.
Or worse.
I didn’t remember leaving it behind.
At some point I stopped distinguishing between the two.
I don’t know if I’m reading this.
Or if this appears when I try to stop reading it.
Sometimes I think the sentence arrives before I do.
Not as an idea.
As a structure.
And I only enter afterwards to check it.
I have to move the neck I am not moving it I should…
