I wrote this last year, in the back of my journal, scribbled in green pen.
A friend happened to read it and said I should share it, so here it is. Not too polished, but it's honest.
I almost don't want to say this out loud. But London, I feel a little disappointed. In you? By you?
You and me, we've been ever so slowly moving towards each other all these years. An inevitable trajectory - we knew one day we'd be together.
In the meantime, it was all quick dates and brief flings. Exciting, exhilarating, a guilty pleasure. Rough around the edges you were - and that's what I loved. The mix of grime and colour. The unexpected cosy corner. Majesty, mystery, misery all rocking side by side.
You were fresh air in my lungs, a raw kick after the sleepiness of Oxford; energetic honesty after the surrealism of Brighton. You were ideas and positivity peeking up out of the grey. Basements and breakdancing, Brixton, Brick Lane, the last train back to Brighton all danced out and satisfied.