I searched for myself. Not my name—me.
The first result was a blurry profile picture. It looked like me, but… distorted.
The second was a forum post from 2011. I don’t remember writing it, but it remembered me.
The third was a dead link. Maybe that was the real one.
Last week, I Googled: “what does it feel like to forget your mother?”
Google corrected me: “Did you mean: how to delete saved contacts?”
I didn’t laugh.
Someone once messaged me: “You’re not really you anymore. Not since you’re always online.”
I never read it. I saved it.
Now, it shows up again, randomly—like memory drift. Like my thoughts are cached, and someone keeps refreshing them.
I don’t think in thoughts anymore.
I think in tabs.
I feel in loading screens.
Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I swear I can feel someone scrolling through me.
As if I’m a profile—read, not lived.
I don’t know if I wrote this, or if I just… found it.
It was in a folder labeled "Fragments". No author. No date.
I think I was real once.
Before I started thinking in search terms.
If you find the rest of me—please don’t try to fix it.
Just press back.
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[end]
