Doomscrolling
In its dim glow at night, do you remember scrolling? Your thumbs shrieking, the images on your retina disintegrating into a soup of colours. The lips have slightly parted and would part more over the course of the next few minutes. A quickening breath adds to the confusion. Sounds follow one another into oblivion in between the folds of your brain — the dopamine pumped in hasty bouts.
You now breathe like the dog, via the mouth, panting. The light piercing your eyeballs evokes tears, not from sadness but from physiological pain. Do you recall running on the track and the wind pushing through the sockets of your eyes, making you tear up? No. This doesn’t feel as good, a lot worse and then a little more.
Frantically flicking the display, a phantom in your brain starts twisting its head in a ghostly manner.
“Ah”, you let out a sharp cry and throw your phone on the bed, away from you.
You blink your tears off and take a deep breath through your nose and exhale audibly through your pursed lips.
Looking to your side, you wonder how many minutes have passed. Maybe you can pick it back up, now.
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