A love story to the city

I will never grow old of you.

I thought I could leave London, but the longer I stay the more certain I can’t.

This is more than just a place for me now. It’s an extension of me. It reflects all my longings, all my failures, all my hopes. It’s every spark of desire, every wash of inspiration, every trickle of doubt.

It’s me on the night bus at 4 in the morning with the sun coming up. It’s me on streets that have so many stories etched in them. There’s the corner I threw snowballs at police cars. There’s the park where I sat when I thought I’d lost everything.There’s the street I ran down to get Christina’s number.

Here’s where I’ve grown and fought and lost and won. Where I’ve lived and died and been reborn. Playing out like a montage in my mind.

And I’m sure you’ve faded, I’m sure you’ve probably changed in lots of ways before I even arrived. The gentrification, the extortion, the closure of clubs, the upheaval of community. The hatred that you’ve had inflicted on you.

But then you catch me off guard when I’m least expecting it. Maybe when I’m on my bike and I venture down a street I’ve never been, or when I spot friends laughing, or even when I’m in bed on alone on a Friday night.

I feel the life in you.

And despite all your flaws, I adore you.

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