There was a tab open.
It shouldn’t have been.
I think I closed it before.
I opened it again.
Just to check.
But something was wrong.
The page felt familiar.
Too familiar.
As if I had already closed it several times.
I closed it.
Waited.
I opened it again.
Not to read it.
To make sure it was still the same one.
That’s what doesn’t fit.
Not the page.
Me.
There was another tab.
One I remember closing.
I’m fairly sure.
But it was open.
In the same place.
At the same point I left it.
I closed it again.
Slower this time.
And opened it again.
Not out of curiosity anymore.
Out of need.
I realized something uncomfortable.
I wasn’t checking the tab.
I was checking the gesture.
Close.
Open.
Close again.
Then I had to check why I did it.
That was the worst part.
Because it wasn’t just repetition.
It was not remembering which one was the first.
And that’s where the part I didn’t want to write started.
There was something about returning.
Not the page.
The moment before deciding to return.
That’s what is starting to worry me.
The screen is still on.
The tab is still there.
I’m not sure I opened it this last time.
But it’s open.
I don’t like how easy it is to continue.
The strange thing is that a few minutes ago I still thought I was trying to stop.
I have to move the neck there is no neck…
