There is something deeply humiliating about discovering that an obsession does not need effort to survive.
I thought it did.
I thought I had to feed it.
I thought it required memories.
I thought it required fantasies.
I thought it required intention.
But it does not.
It survives on its own.
This morning it appeared while I was brushing my teeth.
I was not even thinking.
That is what bothers me most.
I was not remembering anything.
I simply looked at my reflection for a second too long.
And there he was.
As if he had been waiting behind the image.
Sometimes it happens while I am scrolling through my phone.
One screen.
Then another.
Then another.
News.
Messages.
Videos.
Nothing related.
Absolutely nothing related.
And yet something connects.
A gesture.
A pause.
The way someone remains still for a few seconds.
And suddenly I am thinking about him again.
I do not understand how it happens.
That is the embarrassing part.
If I could identify the logic, perhaps I could fight it.
But there is no logic.
Only permanence.
Yesterday it happened at the grocery store.
I was standing in front of a shelf trying to choose between two completely insignificant products.
And suddenly an absurd question appeared.
A question that had no right to exist there.
What would he have chosen?
I did not even want the answer.
It did not even make sense.
But it appeared.
And then it remained.
The way everything remains once I try to remove it.
Sometimes I think obsession behaves like an architectural renovation that continues while nobody is looking.
You do not see it advancing.
But one day you discover that a room has moved.
That a door no longer leads where it used to.
That something inside you has been reorganized overnight.
Perhaps Sade understood something about that.
Not obedience.
Not excess.
But the ability of certain ideas to occupy far more space than they should.
The way a presence can install itself inside a mind and continue functioning even when nobody invokes it.
Even when nobody wants it.
Even when it becomes uncomfortable.
Especially when it becomes uncomfortable.
There are particularly ridiculous moments.
Moments I would never admit aloud.
Looking at an empty cup for too long.
Folding a shirt.
Waiting for food to heat up.
Standing motionless in front of a window.
And discovering that he was already there.
Not as an image.
Not as a fantasy.
Worse.
As a reference.
As a measure.
As a silent presence my mind uses to compare things that should never be compared.
I try to reason.
I try to leave.
I try to remember that this should have faded.
That it should have weakened.
That time should have helped.
But time does not help.
Time builds.
Time adds layers.
Time makes certain things harder to remove.
And the more time passes, the more embarrassing it becomes to admit.
Because it no longer feels temporary.
It no longer feels like a phase.
It begins to feel like a permanent property of attention.
Something that remains before waking.
While making coffee.
While watching meaningless videos.
While waiting for a message.
While doing absolutely nothing.
And perhaps that is the worst part.
Not that it appears.
But that it appears without being called.
As if it no longer needed permission to exist.
I am not moving it the neck has locked I should…
