I woke up in London.
The coldest, loneliest, most manipulative city.
Suitcase, boarding pass, and flat white — the adult necessities.
Somehow, the fog, the brief rain, and the underground rats were the main
menu of memories.
Booty calls for starters, always expensive rent on the side, and that one
love for dessert.
But no — instead, I was hit by the sun, green grass, and pleasant
weather.
The audacity this city holds to change as it pleases.
—
Dear me,
At the small corner of Kensington Gardens,
I was looking at the green grass where we used to lie on a blanket,
giggling like teens.
Seven years later, the grass is still the same, but no one is lying on it.
Seven years later, we are not the same at all.
We don't know anything about each other anymore.
I didn't know what I was doing.
I just knew I had to be here.
Some things you can't do from a distance.
—
Joe & the Juice in South Kensington offered the second coffee of the day
and a comfy seat while I was waiting to check in.I just wanted to leave my luggage and spend an hour reminiscing on the
busy streets.
Perhaps buy a new dress, even though I wasn't sure if I needed it yet.
I took my phone out and started to type:
Silence.
Hey… delete.
Nothing.
I'm in London, care to meet? No — too casual.
I haven't seen the guy in seven years.
I couldn't compose myself clearly.
I was too tired of overthinking it — the flight, the suitcases I was pulling.
A bag full of clothes in a city full of memories.
Suddenly, my phone buzzed, and it was time to check in.
By the time I reached the Airbnb, all I wanted was a shower, a warm bed,
and a good movie.
—
Dear me,
Somewhere between Kensington and nowhere,
I chose to spend the night with myself.
Maybe moving on happens on a random Tuesday.
Maybe not.
Ask me tomorrow
when I am lonely again.