Last night I opened the same page again.
It wasn’t the same.
I think that’s the most embarrassing part to admit.
Not the page.
But the fact that I went back.
I’ve been reading about this for too long to pretend it’s curiosity anymore.
But I still call it that.
Curiosity.
As if the word could hold its shape.
Today something felt off while I was reading.
Not in the text.
In me.
I’ve stopped knowing when I actually start reading.
Sometimes I’m already inside it before I decide to be.
That makes me close the laptop too quickly.
As if closing it could stop something from staying.
I don’t know what.
There is a note in the notepad.
I wrote it.
I think.
It says:
“do not hold the next cycle”
I don’t remember writing it.
But I remember reading it before.
That’s the worst part.
The repetition without origin.
I tried deleting it.
It came back.
Not immediately.
Later.
As if it doesn’t depend on when I erase it.
But on somewhere else.
I’ve stopped trusting the cursor.
It feels like it arrives before my intention does.
Not always.
Just sometimes.
That’s what keeps me here.
Today I closed everything without finishing anything.
Not because anything was wrong.
But because I felt I was about to understand it.
And that always happens right before it stops being safe.
I didn’t want to check.
That was a decision.
I think.
I have to move the neck I am not moving it I should…
