If I could explain it, I could accept it
If I could explain it, I think I could accept it.
But the problem is that every time I try to explain it, it changes.
It doesn’t stay still.
It doesn’t settle into something fixed.
It starts as something simple.
Almost too simple.
Curiosity.
That’s what I tell myself.
Just curiosity.
Just looking.
Just understanding.
But then something happens that I can’t fully describe.
I return.
And it’s not a clear decision.
Not “I want to go back”.
It’s more like I’m already going back before I realize it.
I remember specific nights.
Nothing special.
Just ordinary ones.
The screen on.
Me sitting there.
No music.
Nothing else.
Just going through pages.
One after another.
And what feels strange isn’t what I was seeing.
It’s that I didn’t stop.
I could have stood up.
Closed everything.
Done something else.
But I didn’t.
Not because it was intense.
Not because it felt overwhelming.
But because of something smaller.
More uncomfortable.
Like leaving it unfinished felt worse than continuing.
That’s what doesn’t fit me.
Because I should be someone who understands what he does.
Someone who can explain his reasons.
But here I can’t.
I can only describe the movement.
Open.
Read.
Close.
Return.
Open again.
And each time I tell myself it will be the last.
But it isn’t.
And that starts to feel embarrassing.
Not because of what I’m seeing.
But because of me.
Because of the way I return without explaining it.
There is something in that structure that calms me.
And that is the hardest thing to admit.
Not because it’s intense.
But because it’s easy.
Too easy.
Like there is no resistance.
Like my body already knows the way before I do.
Sometimes I close everything quickly if I think someone might see me.
Not because I’m doing something clearly wrong.
But because I wouldn’t know how to explain it without sounding ridiculous.
And that is what bothers me most.
Not the content.
But the lack of explanation.
The gap.
The part that doesn’t fit.
“If I could explain it, I could accept it.”
But I can’t.
Because every explanation opens another question.
And that is the part that doesn’t stop.
Not the gesture.
But the question after the gesture.
Why do I return?
Why again?
Why doesn’t it close?
And sometimes, when I shut the laptop, I just sit there for a few seconds looking at the dark screen.
As if waiting for an answer that won’t come.
And still, I return.
I don’t know why.
But I return.
“If I could explain it, I could accept it.”
But I can’t.
It’s not that I don’t understand what I’m watching or reading.
It’s that I understand it too quickly… and then I feel strange.
Like I understood something I shouldn’t have been able to understand that easily.
It starts as curiosity, yes.
I can say that without problem.
Just curiosity.
Nothing serious.
Just looking.
Just “seeing what it is about.”
But it doesn’t stay that way.
I don’t know when it changes.
There is no clear moment.
That’s the worst part.
It starts taking small spaces.
One more video.
One more text.
A quick search that was supposed to mean nothing.
And suddenly it becomes something else.
It’s not that I’m actively chasing it all the time.
It’s more uncomfortable than that.
It comes back.
Without me fully deciding.
And then another part appears.
The part I don’t like admitting.
The part that doesn’t close it.
The part that keeps looking.
Sometimes I close everything and sit still for a second.
Like I did something I shouldn’t have done.
Even though nobody knows.
Even though no one is there.
Just me.
And that’s the strangest part.
There is no event.
No big decision.
Just accumulation.
And then a kind of unnamed shame.
Not clear guilt.
Something more physical.
Like heat in my face without a reason strong enough to justify it.
As if my body knows before I do what this means.
And the worst part is that it doesn’t mean just one thing.
That’s what unravels me.
I have to move my neck I am not moving it…
