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.
It is written as a lyrical, reflective prose poem or a personal essay, playing on the double meaning of “index” (a list/guide, or a pointer/finger). 1. The first letter. You wrote it on a torn page from a notebook meant for physics diagrams. I still have it. The ink has smudged, turning the ‘h’ in hum into a ghost. It was the index finger pointing toward possibility: You. Me. Maybe. Index Of Hum Tum
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. Indexed under Train stations, coffee cups gone cold,