I wrote this about how I feel being in, and leaving, London:
All around me are the sounds of the city, people getting ready to go out, to celebrate, commiserate. Car horns blasting, interchanging with shouts and the occasional laughter. The city coming alive.
The sound of my own feet, boot hitting pavement, echoes in my ears and I feel like I am the luckiest woman on earth. Like I’m slowly waking up after hibernation and my senses are becoming keen again.
These streets remind me of a past life. Ghosts of lovers hide around corners, waiting for me to glance their way; I smile as I catch them. Bright lights and music are everywhere, bursts of life as pub doors open, then the quiet near-solitude when they shut.
I feel peaceful here. My mind slows down and I feel safe. the noise and bustle soothe me and I feel small. As though I am part of something much larger – my existence a thread of something better than I can ever be without it.
I find a pub and sit with my glass of wine amongst the other lonesome drinkers, who stare at their iphones or at nothing at all and I wait here until it’s time to leave. To catch a train, to go home to my other life and my other country.
And I wonder if I will ever love anyone as much as I love London, my heart breaking just that little bit more each time I leave.