I don’t know when it stopped being simple curiosity.
I wish I could point to a day.
A search.
A video.
A sentence.
Something.
But I can’t.
All I remember is that I used to close the tab without thinking.
Now I close it…
and somehow I’m still there.
There’s something embarrassing about admitting that.
Not because someone might see my browser history.
Because I’m beginning to suspect I don’t open it to find answers anymore.
I open it to feel the question again.
I don’t keep reading because I understand more.
I keep reading because I understand less.
At first that uncertainty bothered me.
Now it has become something I can’t quite describe.
Not pleasant.
Not unpleasant.
Just… difficult to leave behind.
Sometimes I catch myself waiting until I’m alone.
And the embarrassing part begins before I even turn on the screen.
As if some part of me already knows what is about to happen.
I tell myself it will only take five minutes.
It’s always five minutes.
Until I check the time.
Until I realize I haven’t changed position in what feels like forever.
Until my neck starts to ache.
Then I move it.
Or I try to.
And for a brief second an absurd question appears.
How long had I wanted to move it?
I don’t know.
That’s the unsettling part.
Not losing time.
Losing the moment when I decided to come back.
Every time it becomes harder to find that moment.
Every time it feels as though it happened earlier.
And that frightens me more than anything I’ve actually read.
I have to move the neck I am not moving it I should…
