I said it was curiosity.
That was the easy answer.
The one that doesn’t bother anyone.
But it wasn’t just curiosity.
There was something about going back.
Closing the tab.
And opening it again.
As if the answer was always a little further down.
A little later.
I remember the screen at night.
Too bright in the dark room.
The silence around me.
And me not moving.
Not because I was focused.
But because getting up would have meant admitting something.
I don’t know what.
That’s the part I don’t want to write.
The cup was there.
Cold.
I looked at it for too long.
As if it was part of the same problem.
I thought I was looking for information.
Then I thought I was looking for repetition.
Now I’m not sure it was either.
I only know I kept coming back.
And that doesn’t fit.
Because once should have been enough.
But it wasn’t.
There was a difference.
Small.
Almost invisible.
Between understanding something…
and needing to look at it again.
I don’t know when it started changing.
Only that it changed without asking.
The screen stays in my memory even when it’s off.
As if it doesn’t depend on the device.
But on me.
And that’s what bothers me.
Not the content.
But the return.
The repetition.
The automatic gesture.
As if something in me was checking something else.
Something I don’t want to name yet.
I have to move the neck there is no neck I am not moving it I should…
