The floor is wall-to-wall carpet. Dark grey. In between, there are patches of blue and light grey. I wonder why the floor and its details have never caught my attention before. I realize that I am closer to the floor than usual. I question whether it is me or the ground that is getting closer. From the bend in my back, I understand that it is me. The ground and I—we’re about to embrace. What brings me so close to it? I feel a pain in my back and reach to check it. My hand grasps a leg. I think someone is on my back. Suddenly, all the meaninglessness starts to gain meaning. I focus on my body. I notice hands shutting my eyes, blocking my ears, covering my mouth. I realize a foot pressing down on my heart, a hand tightening around my throat, my stomach being punched. I think, all this cannot belong to one person. Are there others? The pressure on my back grows heavier with every realization. I get closer and closer to the ground as it echoes their whispers. I try to count how many there are, and at that moment, my hands catch my attention. I follow them and realize they are reaching toward the people around me. Without permission—neither theirs nor mine—they are pulling people onto my back, one by one. It becomes harder to know how many people I am carrying. They’re getting more and more crowded and I get closer and closer to the ground. Including me, no one’s voice can be heard anymore. Just a great, big noise. I imagine taking control of one hand, pulling people down. But even though there are fewer people on my back, I still can't rise. I keep getting closer to the ground. This time, what I cannot carry is the weight of mourning for the emptiness they’ve left behind. As I get closer to the ground, I admit to myself: even without mourning, my habit of bending down would still prevent me from rising. The floor catches my attention. Wall-to-wall carpet. Dark grey. In between, there are patches of blue and light grey. I am closer to the floor more than ever. Perhaps I’ve already reached the ground, embraced it—I don’t know.