I don’t think about the instrument before it happens.
I think about it only when it is already too close to remain just an idea.
And that is the first thing that unravels me.
The first contact is not interpreted as pain.
It is interpreted as confirmation.
As if a part of me had been waiting for that exact moment without admitting it.
And I hate realizing that afterward.
It is not intense at first.
That is the worst part.
It does not arrive as something extreme.
It arrives as something correct.
And that feeling is what confuses me.
There is a second where I cannot tell if I am reacting or anticipating.
I can’t separate it.
And that lack of separation starts to take more space than the impact itself.
My body responds before I can think about resisting.
It is not decision.
It is speed.
And I notice that this speed feels too familiar.
Each impact does not feel isolated.
It feels cumulative.
As if the previous one never fully disappears before the next arrives.
And that changes how I experience it.
There is something that should be rejection.
But it doesn’t appear clean.
It appears mixed.
With something else I don’t want to name yet.
And that is what begins to grow.
Not the pain.
But the attention to the pain.
The way I am watching it while it happens.
I realize I am trying to understand it in real time.
And that attempt intensifies it.
It doesn’t explain it.
It intensifies it.
There is a strange moment where I no longer know if I am inside the impact…
or if the impact is organizing the way I think.
And that idea does not arrive as a conclusion.
It arrives as an interruption.
I am not sure when it starts to feel like “too much.”
Only that the point of “too much” keeps moving while it happens.
And that is where the real contradiction appears.
Excitement is not an increase.
It is a displacement.
It moves inside me without asking.
And curiosity does not follow it.
It precedes it.
I don’t know yet what this means.
Only that it doesn’t stay still.
Not even when it ends.
The neck I am not moving it I should…
