Love.
You are a brute. You chewed me up and spat me straight out. You made false promises and let me down.
London, it’s over.
It’s not what you think though, I promise. It’s just a break, we need to take time away from each other. We’ve spent too much time in each others pockets, both living in a bubble and knowing nothing else other than each other. You flirted with my taste for excitement, you played with my spontaneous nature — you made me feel a sense of false security, but now, it’s time to have some space. I spent all my money on you, I dedicated so much time and effort, Only to realise that we’re just not working out.
I have done the inevitable, it’s time. I’m moving out of London — moving away, moving home, and turning to the dark side ; becoming a commuter. From the green depths of surrey, I moved to London four years ago, to chase after the dream to be in fashion. And god have I made my mark, and proved I’m part of the industry. Along the way, I have danced to the early hours of the morning in Fabric and Ministry of Sound, fallen out of the Uber (stylishy, may I add) on a Friday night in Mayfair, spent my sundays daydreaming in the V&A, sipping coffee on Kings Road.. even rummaging through the thrifts shops in Brick Lane. I’ve discovered my love of spas (Mandarin Oriental, you will always be “the one”), I’ve sat front row at London Fashion Week and drank triple shot mixers in the Mens Fashion Week after parties. I’ve grown with London, I’ve played with London and I’ve worked with London. But every relationship has its time, and my time of renting in the big smoke, is over.. well, for the next few months at least.
We just need time. To breathe, to sort out what we really want, where our heads are at, and how much we really love each other. However, at this moment in time, London, it’s over.