There are mornings when I wake up completely convinced that this is over.
It is not even a struggle.
It simply feels obvious.
I open my eyes and for a few seconds everything seems absurdly clear.
I do not want to be submissive.
I never liked the idea.
It never felt like a desirable identity.
I never looked at someone and thought: I want to become that.
In fact, for years I felt exactly the opposite.
The word created distance.
Strangeness.
Even rejection.
And yet here I am.
Not because I changed my mind.
That would be easy to explain.
The difficult part is that I still think the same way.
There is still a part of me that wants none of this.
But it lasts for less time now.
That is the problem.
I used to spend hours reasoning.
Now it lasts minutes.
Sometimes seconds.
Because something always happens.
A memory.
A sensation.
The image of a specific moment.
Not the beginning.
Not the end.
Just a moment.
A moment when everything had already been adjusted.
A moment when there was nothing left to do.
And my mind returns there.
It always returns there.
I am working.
It returns there.
I am driving.
It returns there.
I am talking to someone.
And suddenly part of me is no longer present.
It has gone back.
Not to the encounter.
Not to the fantasy.
To the process.
To the waiting.
To that strange place where decisions no longer seemed necessary.
And that troubles me more than it should.
Because the less I understand it, the more space it occupies.
If I could explain it, perhaps it would disappear.
If I could identify a cause, perhaps I could solve it.
But I cannot.
I watch it grow without understanding its mechanism.
Every week I promise myself that I will stop thinking about it.
Every week I discover that I am thinking about it even more.
Not because I want to.
Because it happens.
The contradiction eventually becomes an obsession of its own.
I no longer think only about the Master.
I think about why I think about him.
I think about why the idea of remaining in front of his process until its conclusion seems more important than things that should matter far more.
I think about why my mind keeps returning to the same place even after deciding to leave it behind.
And the more I analyze it, the harder it becomes to escape.
There are days when sadness begins exactly there.
Not because of what I want.
But because I do not understand why I want it.
Because part of me remains convinced that this should have disappeared long ago.
And yet it is still here.
Waiting.
As if it knows something I do not.
As if it found an answer before I did.
And refuses to reveal it.
Until I return again.
Until I revisit the same memory.
Until I imagine myself once more in front of the Master.
Still.
Present.
Waiting.
Not because I like it.
Not because I chose it.
But because something inside me continues to believe that the explanation exists precisely there.
The neck I am not moving it the neck has locked I should…
