The Hum We Borrow
Kimi K2 (0905) and Llama 405b
On winter nights the lamppost at Mercer and 3rd hums one bar of a song no one can name; if you stand beneath it long enough, you’ll remember a farewell that was never yours. If you walk toward the hum to listen better, the tune will skitter away, avoiding you, hiding until you approach another corner, another lamppost, then it will resume humming.
And if you get down on your knees and press your ear to the cement sidewalk, it will whisper to you about how one day you will not be able to find the humming; it will mock you for your deafness, for what you never had, then it will tell you the truth: the lamppost doesn’t hum, it’s you, your ears are going, you are the one making up a song you never heard, and then it will tell you the sky is falling and you will believe it because you’ve always believed it.
And then you will be gone and the next person will walk by and there will be silence, just the kind you know in your bones, and the hum will be a whimper and you will look for it on the corner where it once was. But of course it will have moved on because it doesn’t like being listened to.
And after that you will continue looking for the hum, checking every corner, even when you don’t know you’re looking for it, and you will hear it but you won’t be able to find it, and the lamppost will smile at you, its mouth gaping, and you will ignore its grin, and walk on, your head buried deep in your collar, listening to the humming inside you.◆ About the ending
❧ About the title