The problem is not breathing.
It is deciding in which version of the air breathing happens.
The first inhalation feels normal. Then there is no way to confirm it occurred.
The chest expands.
Or that is what I remember afterward.
Because when I look down, the chest is still.
In the mirror, however, it is mid-motion.
There is no transition between both states.
Only two incompatible records running at the same time.
I try to synchronize them.
The moment I do, the air changes density.
It does not enter or leave.
It reorganizes.
As if each molecule has to choose which version of me it belongs to.
There is a sheet of paper on the desk.
It was not there before.
It contains a sentence written in my handwriting.
I do not remember writing it.
It says: “do not retain the next cycle.”
When I look again, the sentence has changed:
“you already retained it.”
I do not know which version comes first.
The neck problem begins the same way.
Not as sensation.
As instruction without origin.
I have to move my neck.
The sentence does not appear in my mind.
It appears in space, as if already executed in another layer of the same system.
I try to remember when it started.
There is no beginning.
Only repetitions that do not preserve order.
I lift my gaze.
My reflection has already completed the movement.
I am still one step behind.
And then the smallest adjustment occurs.
The mirror does not reflect what I do.
It decides which version of me will be valid next.
I have to move the neck there is no neck I am not moving it I should…
