Last night I found a screenshot.
I did not remember taking it.
It was not even important.
A page.
A paragraph.
Nothing special.
The strange thing was the date.
Three weeks.
The screenshot was three weeks old.
I kept staring at the corner of the image.
Three weeks.
I could swear I only started reading about this a few days ago.
That is what I keep telling myself.
A few days.
But the screenshot was still there.
I opened it several times.
As if the date might change.
It did not.
The room smelled like warm dust.
The computer had been running for too many hours.
I ran my hand across the desk.
There was a thin layer of dust beside the keyboard.
I thought I should clean it.
I did not.
I opened another tab.
Then another.
And another.
I was not looking for anything new.
That is what is starting to worry me.
I almost never look for new things anymore.
I look for the same ones.
The same questions.
The same articles.
The same forums.
Sometimes I recognize a sentence before I read it.
And I still read it.
All of it.
As if I were checking that it is still there.
This afternoon I found a note on my phone.
One sentence.
Just one.
“I don’t know why I keep thinking about this.”
I do not remember writing it.
I know I wrote it.
But I do not remember when.
I think that is what embarrasses me most.
Not the curiosity.
Not even the excitement.
But discovering that this started taking up space before I admitted it was taking up space.
I have the feeling that I arrive late to my own habits.
As if someone had quietly rearranged small things inside my routine.
Nothing important.
Just details.
The history.
The note.
The screenshot.
The time.
Always the time.
I check the clock.
Five minutes.
I check again.
Thirty seconds have passed.
I need to move my neck.
I am not moving it.
The strange thing is that this time it does not hurt.
It feels as if I am waiting for something.
And I do not know whether I am waiting for it to happen.
Or waiting to discover when it started.
I have to move my neck…
