The cup is still on the table.
That’s not new.
What’s strange is the way I look at it as if I don’t know why it’s there.
I touch it.
Cold.
For a second I think that should mean something.
It doesn’t mean anything yet.
Or maybe it means too early.
The alarm is still set.
That’s normal.
What isn’t normal is the time.
Three minutes earlier than the one I usually use.
I don’t remember choosing that difference.
I don’t remember arriving at that gesture.
I only remember checking it this morning.
As if someone did it before me.
There is a crack in the wall.
I wasn’t looking for it.
I was looking for the moment I saw it.
Because I don’t know if I saw it before or after I knew it was there.
I look at it again.
It seems the same.
Then it doesn’t.
Then I’m not sure what changed.
I realize something uncomfortable.
It’s not the crack that changes.
It’s me changing around it.
That makes me uncomfortable to write.
Because it sounds too clear.
And nothing here is clear when I read it back.
I start thinking that certain things happen a few centimeters before I arrive.
Not as an idea.
As a sensation.
As a minimal delay.
As if the decision has already happened and I’m only confirming it afterwards.
The cup is still cold.
That should reassure me.
It doesn’t.
Because I start suspecting I’m not using it to remember where the cup is.
I’m using it to remember where I am.
I have to move my neck.
I think it.
I wait.
Nothing.
The sensation arrives a moment later.
But it doesn’t fit.
It’s not an instruction.
It’s something else.
For a second I think I understand.
Then it disappears.
Not the thought.
The place I thought it came from disappears.
And that’s what I can’t explain.
I’m no longer sure the crack is in the wall.
I’m starting to think the wall is there to hold the crack.
And if that’s true…
I don’t know what I was looking at before.
The cup is still cold.
The alarm is still set.
The crack is still there.
And I’m still trying to remember who started checking.
I have to move the neck I am not moving it I should…
