The Weight of a Random Scroll, on a Thursday Night
It was Thursday night, and I came home with a heavy heart after my 9 to 5. I sat on the dining chair, my outside clothes still on, grabbed my phone, and scrolled.
“Just a few minutes”, I told myself… but time loosened its grip on me.
There were tens or twenties of them, but one reel… one random reel, was enough to vacuum me out of the present moment.
One careless flick of a thumb dragged me backward into the echoes of the past.
Minutes became hours. Dinner was forgotten. Hunger learned to wait.
I stayed there, glued to my chair.
My forehead folded like mountains converging into each other, my face growing intimate with a screen that knew me too well.
My eyes darkened, and my heart began to rot quietly.
Some nights, betrayal leaks out as tears. Tonight, it was my shortcomings that arrived as a ghost, along with unfinished sentences that haunted my chest.
And every time a feeling rose… sharp or aching, I buried myself deeper, searching for meaning, for whereabouts, for answers that never lived there.
I was drowned in an endless stream of borrowed emotions, videos that rewired my mood in milliseconds.
Then, always — thank God — a knock. Not on the door, but somewhere behind my dark eyes. A loud voice scolded me:
“What is this madness?”
“How did you end up here?”
It felt like cold water had been poured over me, washing me awake from this brutal possession, from a self I had misplaced.
Then I wondered why moving on feels harder these days. And I understood — we are never allowed to replace, if not forget.
Every feeling is archived.
Every wound replayed.
Every longing resurfaced, by a design we feed into.
And in that clarity, something steadied inside me…
I must be more intentional. I am the author of this life, and not a feeder of moods and vibes. And if anything, this thing should serve me more than it feeds me.
With prudence,
She is Juls
