Typewriter Series #2680 by Tyler Knott Gregson Help me out! Comment below if you see this.
Two and a half weeks of waiting, the body does peculiar things. Never been afraid of death, not the pain or leaving of it, never worried of my own demise, but the body does peculiar things. Hurtling down a highway hours from a signal, a tightness takes over and plants a seed of doubt, calculations in mathematics you somehow remember again, if an ambulance leaves City A at 80 miles per hour headed south, while you leave Forest B going 70 miles per hour, heading north, at what point on that lonely piece of road will you and the defibrillator be within eye shot?
Seventeen minutes on a treadmill, wires dangling from patches that leave red rings when they pull them off. Seventeen minutes running straight up a Sisyphean hill, and another day of waiting. Is that numbness in my left hand?
I woke to results, the all clear, the news that this heart won't give out, was as strong as I thought it was, that it was built for endurance, I woke to good news and somehow forgot everything I once knew of mathematics.
-Tyler Knott Gregson-
