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You looking away from the lens. Me looking at you looking away. It’s the most honest thing we ever made. The index classifies it under: Truth.
An index is supposed to be orderly. Alphabetical. Clinical. But Hum and Tum — Us and You —refuse to be sorted. They bleed across the columns. They refer the reader to every page, and to no page at all. Index Of Hum Tum
Not the angry kind. The one that falls between two people who have run out of small talk and are terrified of the large talk. This index entry reads: See also: courage. You looking away from the lens
It sits at the very back, like a forgotten appendix. No page number. Because we never turned to that page. But the index lists it anyway, in faint, ghostly type: Love. See: Hum Tum. The index classifies it under: Truth
Hum Tum, passim. Meaning: scattered everywhere. Meaning: if you look closely enough at the margins of any ordinary day, you will find the faint trace of an index finger, pointing from me to you. And back again. End of Index.
Indexed under Train stations, coffee cups gone cold, and the hinge of a door that will never open the same way again. Also under See you later —because you refused to say goodbye.
You looking away from the lens. Me looking at you looking away. It’s the most honest thing we ever made. The index classifies it under: Truth.
An index is supposed to be orderly. Alphabetical. Clinical. But Hum and Tum — Us and You —refuse to be sorted. They bleed across the columns. They refer the reader to every page, and to no page at all.
Not the angry kind. The one that falls between two people who have run out of small talk and are terrified of the large talk. This index entry reads: See also: courage.
It sits at the very back, like a forgotten appendix. No page number. Because we never turned to that page. But the index lists it anyway, in faint, ghostly type: Love. See: Hum Tum.
Hum Tum, passim. Meaning: scattered everywhere. Meaning: if you look closely enough at the margins of any ordinary day, you will find the faint trace of an index finger, pointing from me to you. And back again. End of Index.
Indexed under Train stations, coffee cups gone cold, and the hinge of a door that will never open the same way again. Also under See you later —because you refused to say goodbye.