I should not be reading about this this much.
That is the first thing that comes to mind.
Not that it is strange.
Not that it is wrong.
Not that it scares me.
Only that it occupies more space than it should.
Last night I opened a page out of curiosity.
At least that is what I told myself.
Curiosity.
The word feels sufficient until you start counting how many times you come back.
Because once is curiosity.
Twice is curiosity too.
I do not know exactly when it becomes something else.
Today I caught myself doing something ridiculous.
I was working.
Or at least I was supposed to be working.
And suddenly there was a tab open.
Again.
I do not even remember opening it.
I only remember seeing it.
As if it had arrived before I did.
I read for a few minutes.
Nothing particularly intense.
People talking.
Experiences.
Words that would have felt completely foreign a few months ago.
And yet I kept reading.
The strange thing was not the content.
The strange thing was the feeling of recognition.
As if I was looking for something specific.
Even though I had no idea what it was.
I closed the page.
I remember closing it.
I am sure.
Five minutes later I opened the browser again.
Not to enter.
Just to check that I had actually closed it.
I do not know why I did that.
The page was still closed.
That should have been enough.
But I kept staring at the history.
A few seconds.
Then a minute.
Then longer.
I was not looking for anything.
At least I think I was not.
There is a part of this that embarrasses me.
I am starting to recognize certain terms.
Certain expressions.
Certain dynamics.
And whenever I find them I feel a strange little jolt.
Not because I understand them.
I still do not.
It is because they feel less unfamiliar every time.
I think that is what bothers me.
Not the content.
The familiarity.
Sometimes I catch myself anticipating a sentence before I read it.
Expecting an idea before I find it.
As if some part of me arrived first.
Something small happened today.
Ridiculously small.
I read a comment.
Nothing important.
I closed it.
Went on with my day.
Hours later I remembered a specific sentence.
Just one sentence.
I do not remember what I was doing when I read it.
I do not remember the page.
I do not remember the context.
Only the sentence.
And the worst part is that I went looking for it again.
Not because I needed it.
Because I wanted to check whether it still produced the same feeling.
I found it.
I read it again.
And then I realized something I would rather not have realized.
The sentence was no longer the important thing.
The search was not important either.
What mattered was that I had started waiting for that moment.
And I do not know when that happened.
I do not know when I stopped reading out of curiosity.
And started looking for curiosity itself.
I have to move my neck I should…
