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.
Uplifting poetry, the whole world in a tea cup, streets an art gallery and a museum.
A feast for the eyes, as they say.
So I've loved you for a long time. And now I'm living next door, so close I can smell you. Pass you everyday, our coats brushing, shadows touching.
I'm right here, at last, and yet you seem to be slipping through my fingers. We embrace and there's no substance to you. My arms are left empty, dusted with the scent of Pret a Manger and the Overground.
Where did you go, my love? I search the streets and cannot find you. Our old haunts have lost their magic, our friends have left for greener, cheaper pastures. Don't get me wrong, it's not that you're looking bad. With your shining façades reflecting the sky, well dressed passengers and trendy health food shops. Some might say you've never been better!
But in my eyes, a spark has gone out. And hopefully I'm wrong. Maybe it's me who's lost a spark. That's quite possible.
Maybe I built you up too much and affairs are more thrilling than every day relationships.
Maybe we just need to give each other more time.
And we are giving each other more time. And maybe that was Winter talking: the sun seems to have woken up the city and suddenly there is so much more life on the streets. We're moving into London at the end of June and I'm looking forward to it. I hope the love will return, and deepen.
In the meantime, we're trying to make time for weekend visits - different from my daily commute - to explore and enjoy and try to decide what area we want to live in. This weekend we watched Canadian goslings and drank Venezuelan beer with a friend on the banks of the canal near Haggerston. Nothing to complain about there!!
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.
Uplifting poetry, the whole world in a tea cup, streets an art gallery and a museum.
A feast for the eyes, as they say.
So I've loved you for a long time. And now I'm living next door, so close I can smell you. Pass you everyday, our coats brushing, shadows touching.
I'm right here, at last, and yet you seem to be slipping through my fingers. We embrace and there's no substance to you. My arms are left empty, dusted with the scent of Pret a Manger and the Overground.
Where did you go, my love? I search the streets and cannot find you. Our old haunts have lost their magic, our friends have left for greener, cheaper pastures. Don't get me wrong, it's not that you're looking bad. With your shining façades reflecting the sky, well dressed passengers and trendy health food shops. Some might say you've never been better!
But in my eyes, a spark has gone out. And hopefully I'm wrong. Maybe it's me who's lost a spark. That's quite possible.
Maybe I built you up too much and affairs are more thrilling than every day relationships.
Maybe we just need to give each other more time.
***
And we are giving each other more time. And maybe that was Winter talking: the sun seems to have woken up the city and suddenly there is so much more life on the streets. We're moving into London at the end of June and I'm looking forward to it. I hope the love will return, and deepen.
In the meantime, we're trying to make time for weekend visits - different from my daily commute - to explore and enjoy and try to decide what area we want to live in. This weekend we watched Canadian goslings and drank Venezuelan beer with a friend on the banks of the canal near Haggerston. Nothing to complain about there!!
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