The strangest thing is that I am no longer sure I remember the pain.
For a long time I believed that was what kept returning.
The intensity.
The pressure.
The impact.
The physical sensation.
But the more time passes, the less certain I become.
Because whenever I try to return there, I do not find the pain.
I find something else.
I find the waiting.
I find the absolute attention.
I find the way all of my thoughts seemed organized around a single point.
And that is much harder to explain.
The pain ended.
The waiting did not.
The session ended.
The waiting did not.
The events ended.
The waiting did not.
It is still here.
Like a presence refusing to leave the room.
There are moments when I try to analyze it rationally.
I tell myself it makes no sense.
I tell myself it should occupy less space.
I tell myself there are more important things.
And yet the opposite happens.
Every argument creates a new question.
Every answer opens a new contradiction.
Every contradiction produces a new obsession.
And the obsession produces excitement.
Not simple excitement.
Not joyful excitement.
A constant tension.
A pressure.
The sensation that something remains open.
As though a conversation had been interrupted halfway through a sentence.
As though a door had stopped a few inches before closing.
I try to understand why.
I fail.
I try again.
I fail again.
And each failure seems to feed the very thing I am trying to resolve.
That is the problem.
The obsession no longer behaves like a question searching for an answer.
It behaves like a question that needs to remain alive.
Because as long as it stays open, it continues generating energy.
It continues generating attention.
It continues generating desire.
Sometimes I think I am no longer trying to understand what happened.
I am trying to understand why I keep trying to understand it.
And that second question is far more dangerous than the first.
Because it has no limit.
No conclusion.
No visible resolution.
It simply continues growing.
Until everything begins passing through it.
Conversations.
Thoughts.
Days.
Nights.
Everything eventually returns to the same place.
Not because I choose it.
But because the question has become larger than the answers.
And there it remains.
Not as a memory.
Not as a fantasy.
Not as a decision.
As a presence.
Silent.
Persistent.
Waiting.
Exactly as I am still waiting to understand it.
I have to move the neck I am not moving it the neck has locked I should…
