Tachy

It was beating so fast, they did not let me go. “Rest”, they said, “we’ll join you shortly”. I was too restless to rest : I was worried about the beats, not of the heart, but of the clock. I took my computer and typed. Still, it was a rest. Of sorts.

It slowed down enough they would let me go. I went in a second, without second thought. Still, the thought was planted. I measured the beats through the week. I googled. Something’s not right.

Rhythm is not my forte. I struggle to keep the tempo. Time seems to dilate and compress in strange ways. I miss notes. I miss flights. I get late. I run out of time.

Running out of time is terrifying. I don’t want to. I shouldn’t have to. It’s a betrayal. But I know that the beats, of the heart and the clock, will not care. They dance to their own music, and won’t hear my tantrums.

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