letter/london

i wrote her a letter once, just a little one on four sides of small moleskine sized paper, i should have photocopied it, i always do that, think to photocopy it or photograph it or copy it down or something, but never do. sometimes i'd just like to read them again to see what was going on in my head at the time, normally i can remember snippets but need the whole thing. anyway, in this case i remember one thing that i wrote to her, which still resonates.

in my letter i was saying that there were two girls calling me back home, to dear old blighty. i said that london was calling me, one girl, and she was calling me, the other. but in my letter i said that maybe it was just her that was calling me, that london wasn't calling me at all. that i thought there were two because london was ours. somewhere we went together, somewhere we explored together. our city, one that we created together with our joint experience in it.

and i guess it's true, really. there were so many streets in that city that i had never walked down before until her. and so many things we saw that i had never seen before her, so many things that we did that i had never done before. and even doing the normal things, like sitting on the lawn in front of the tate modern (do you remember? it was right at the beginning…), things i had done before with other people, they seemed new as well, i guess because i was with her.

and from that first day in st pauls where we decided to stop it, almost a year ago, we paved our way through that big city, and made it ours. so it's going to be hard to stay here and see all those things through new eyes.