Bed.

I look at my muscles. They seem smaller. Weaker. I do seem weaker.
I breathe dust. That is why my lungs collapse, nearly explode, such is the feeling, the sensation of pain and the effort to describe it by relating it to some phenomena that most people should associate with great power, magnitude. I'm hyperbolating. I'm breathing dust. This room must be in its very original state of being. No one to the extend of my knowledge has ever cleaned here.
Dirt occupies the floor. Sincerely, it has not belonged to me in a long while. If the whole existence came to a question of belonging, there would be no bottom for the argument. No reason. The whole argument turns hollow.