The strange thing is that the pain disappeared.
Or at least I think it did.
I could not reconstruct it accurately.
I could not tell you which moment was the worst.
I could not arrange the events in the correct order.
And yet something remains.
Something is still here.
That is what disturbs me.
Because if the pain had truly been important, I should remember it better.
I should remember the intensity.
I should remember the details.
I should remember exactly what happened.
But I do not remember those things.
I remember something else.
I remember waiting.
I remember remaining.
I remember the feeling of being motionless while my attention narrowed around a single point I could not abandon.
And the more I try to understand why I remember that instead of everything else, the larger the obsession becomes.
Because the logic feels inverted.
The important things disappear.
The secondary things survive.
I do not remember the pain.
I remember anticipating the pain.
I do not remember the event.
I remember the wait.
I do not remember the ending.
I remember that the ending was approaching.
And for some reason that difference occupies far more space than it should.
There is a contradiction I cannot resolve.
I still think I do not want this.
I still think I do not like it.
I still think it should have faded long ago.
And yet my attention returns to it again and again.
Not to relive it.
Not exactly.
It returns to understand why it remains.
And the more I analyze it, the less I understand it.
The less I understand it, the more attention it demands.
The more attention it demands, the more present it becomes.
Until eventually it occupies everything.
Sometimes I think obsession functions like a wound that never closes because nobody can locate it precisely.
It feels real.
It produces real effects.
It consumes real time.
But whenever I try to point at it, it disappears.
So I search again.
And the search creates excitement.
Not joyful excitement.
Not simple excitement.
A tension.
A constant activation.
The feeling that something remains unfinished.
Something unresolved.
Something still waiting on the other side of a half-open door.
And the longer that door remains open, the more impossible it becomes to ignore.
Perhaps that is the hardest part to accept.
That the obsession no longer seems to feed on answers.
It feeds on questions.
Questions that remain open.
Questions that multiply.
Questions that generate more questions.
Until everything begins orbiting around the same empty center.
And there it remains.
The same contradiction.
The same wait.
The same presence.
Not disappearing.
Not resolving.
Only growing.
The neck has locked I should…
