At The Very Least, There's Us

"What's two plus two?"
The question evades me. There's an uncomfortable scratch in my throat that I can't quite wrap my head around. Regardless of the discomfort, my chest feels light. Unburdened. Weightless. My brain feels quiet. Somehow, that feels new.
Even as I'm gathering that something is definitely off here, I know for sure that "quiet" has never been a word I've used to describe my brain. Why is that? I have no idea.
As my body continues to rifle through each foreign sensation, there is one thing on my mind that somehow breaks through to consciousness. The lightness in my chest is wrong. The silence in my mind is wrong.
And like a prodigal son returning home, the heaviness settles in. The tears spring to my eyes and the noise returns to my brain, feeling nothing short of familiar.
"What's two plus two?"
"Fffour," I finally grind out, wondering if the labored exhale would relieve me of my burden.
"Correct," the computer chimes.
I know two plus two is four.
But not why my heart feels like it's shattering inside my chest.