Eight Minutes
I hope you have eight minutes for me. I typed the message, but never pressed send. Scrolling through my phone, reading thoughts that shook me faster than I expected. Yesterday, things were okay. I was a free bird. Today I sit at home in a wheelchair, feeling like everything is done. It feels heavy to wake up. Hard to speak, so I choose silence instead. Breathing feels difficult. Walking feels like I may fall. Slowly, quietly, I realized I wasn’t well and I needed help. Time kept running. I got stuck somewhere and ended up hurt. So I typed again, asking for help, asking for eight minutes. No one responded. Finally I wrote: “I need blood. I’m diagnosed with worries and too many thoughts.” I hope you will respond. I hope you will reach out. I hope you will rescue me. I hope you are there for my last eight minutes. - Vishwanath