Anthesis of Sadness

I stood up.

Not in a burst of willpower, nor in a heroic surge, but with the painful slowness of a being that even gravity hesitates to carry. Every movement, every recovered joint was a tiny victory over the internal collapse. I straightened my back with the caution of a broken old man, or a condemned soul who, against all odds, still rises to walk toward what comes next — even if he doesn’t want to.

Slowly, almost out of sync, I placed one foot in front of the other.

One foot in front of the other.

Always.

Like a rhythm without music, like a march imposed by something larger than will. I wasn’t walking to reach a place. I was walking because standing still had become impossible. Because something, in the ground or within me, was pushing me to keep going.

The ground... rippled.

Or maybe it was my mind. An imperceptible wave briefly deformed the horizon, a silent fold in the matter, or in my perception. But the distinction between what I was seeing and what I was becoming had grown uncertain. The reference points were vanishing. The very idea of reality was dissolving into an inner fog I no longer tried to dissipate.

The difference was blurry now.

Diluted. Useless.

So I walked. Step by step.