It takes all my effort to lean into this. When you’re little, you believe in magic, in movie magic anyway. These days you just believe in a distant humming.
You’re running out through town, past the shops and the houses, past even the skater-punks and their good-for-nothing looks. For a moment you panic. Why are you doing this? Why are you leaving? You can hear it though, pulling you on. Running faster than seems sustainable but knowing that if you stop, even for a second it will also. You’re driven by its complicity.
You need to feel it more, so you run faster. You just need to feel it longer, so you keep at it: panting, dripping, dying, living. You’re quietly and secretly desperate for that sound. Desperate for its direction.
Somewhere out there, deep in a forest. Beyond the reach of human kind, I know there’s a man sitting on a log humming the tune that makes my bones feel solid.