Scrolling used to feel harmless—just a modern version of flipping through channels. But now it’s become a reflex. A way to dodge silence. A way to distract ourselves from the small aches of the day. And yet the more we scroll, the more we forget… not just posts, but ourselves.
What’s wild is how fast desire gets rewritten by speed. You can see a thousand bodies in an hour and not remember a single one. Not because they lacked beauty, but because nothing had time to become meaningful.
It’s the opposite of nudity in person. When you see someone fully, physically, there’s weight. Presence. A moment that doesn’t flinch away.
Maybe that’s why scrolling exhausts us.
Our brains were built for connection, not consumption.
And when everything becomes disposable, we start to wonder what—if anything—is supposed to stay.