There was a tab open.
I don’t remember opening it.
But it was there.
I closed it.
I think.
Because I opened it again right after.
Without thinking.
Or thinking too late.
The page wasn’t new.
That’s the strange part.
It was the same one I had closed.
But not at the same time.
As if I had closed it after opening it.
Not before.
After.
I stared at the cursor.
Too long.
I thought about closing everything.
I didn’t.
That’s normal.
But this time I don’t know if the thought came before or after the movement.
The cup is next to the keyboard.
I don’t remember placing it there.
But I use it as reference.
Always.
I touch it.
Cold.
That should be normal.
It isn’t.
Because I don’t remember checking it this time.
But it’s closer than before.
I don’t know if I moved it.
Or if I move it every time I look at it.
I go back to the tab.
Close it again.
Not by decision.
By repetition.
Open it again.
To make sure I closed it.
Then I have to check why I needed to check it.
That’s where it starts.
Not with the tab.
With the gesture.
Something uncomfortable starts to appear.
Not what I do.
But what I do just before I know I’m doing it.
As if the decision already happened.
And I’m only catching up to it too late.
The screen is still on.
I don’t know when I left it like that.
I don’t know if I’m writing this or rereading it.
Because every time I stop…
I don’t know if I’m stopping before or after I already stopped.
And I think that’s what bothers me the most.
It isn’t curiosity.
It’s that curiosity feels like it arrives before me.
I have to move the neck I am not moving it I should…
