conscious women creating a full, meaningful life

My City: A Love Letter to London

September 15, 2017



I am a but spec to your body but you’ve left a permanent dent in me. You watered me as soon as I ran to you and fed life back into my flustered remains. You never gave me chance to settle; so settle was never what I was to do. I kept moving. Whizzing around the city powered on the thrill of new beginnings and finally being free. Cliches do exist. Monsooning through the Boroughs like a torpedo with Bambi eyes. You showed me the grimy clubs to the narcissistic ones to eventually none at all. I was growing into myself by the day. We never had an unhealthy relationship but perhaps I was always just a little bit clouded by my own fairytale. You wore me down, you spat me out but; you made me.


Sometimes I’d think I knew you. I’d let my guard down and you’d end up pushing me down a greater rabbit hole than the one I climbed to reach you. You, my silver lining. You’d have your hands around my neck and no one could get you to calm your tide. You’d force me to be alone for weeks at a time but made certain I could still feel the incisions where your fingers once scraped me. But we all have our own currents formed from you. I was nothing special; you made me know it too.


But you were laced with the possibilities of tomorrow. A unique tinge to your golden mornings made rising everyday feel like a brand new year. That was your domino to laying out my dreams. You never broke my dreams; i’ll give you that. You’re the map of my career that just keeps unfolding. You have carried me far. You showed how close under the same sun live my idols; attaching places to those that mean to me. Never again visiting Vinopolis without my eyes oozing awe because of the time I met Vivienne Westwood.


You took away my comfort zone and affirmed that I am okay at being alone. Alone is all you can give anyone. I did it well. I do it well. Maybe a little too well sometimes. The thing with you is, people come and go. They come what they came for and then exit. You ware people down. You make them heavy. You sometimes make me heavy. But other times, you make me light. Light enough to be high and high enough for the clouds to be my destination. 


Destinations are also a thing. I enjoyed the ride. The maze of meetings. You gave me ‘him’ at Tottenham Court Road - a barely snafu alteration to our planned Oxford Circus, because of the sheer blur of it all. The darkness of January sky emitting lights of all sorts into our reflections of passing shop windows as we walked towards our destination of two becoming one.


The places I’ve been but the places I’ll go. They’ll always be somewhere you haven't been but always somewhere you have. You don’t make memories, you move forwards. The tattoo on my arm was barely even dry before you scooped me up and took me on my way. The seasons now etched in nostalgia, I always come back from a greater pull than the last. 


How was I tough enough? My stage was only lit to the hue of my own performance - I was always tough enough. And you rewarded me, you kept me on my ballerina toes and you remained always the same. As you took me everywhere I needed to be, you became a part of me and you most certainly made, at least a little bit, of me. 




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