100 Trains of Thought: 9. The Hum

Screen shot 2014-07-02 at 13.38.31

Words by Billie Jenkins Image stolen from ‘The Secret of Other Peoples Jobs’ Odhams Press

After all the pages, all the lectures, all the films watched in the quiet of night I was never sure if it was a universal truth. The Hum that lay just beyond earshot, its tremors felt when the space between noise was that little bit to long. Stillness was welcome, but the stillness of city where an open window was enough to break the silence. With the windows propped open the cool air seeps in and I can count no less than eleven voices. The large sash windows that covered the back wall of the flat, just tucked in to the alley off the main street, had rarely been shut the short months we’d been here.

A few nights ago, in the middle of one of those conversations that lasts far to long into the night without any salvation, a boy put his head in my lap and told me he cried far more than someone should. Dawn breaking, the sounds of early morning deliveries and nightclubs turning out their bottles, his comment lingered.  Sadness is not an emotion that sits inside your thought patterns, reciting points of an argument. It moves in waves from you chest to your fingertips, rising and falling like a sticky heat. Each breathe pushes the feeling further, and as you struggle to control it, your whole body aches. This is the Hum.

 

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