My shipment of things came in from London today. Finally. 9 weeks later. 4 boxes. 2 years of a life in London, gathered together and packed into 4 little boxes. How does that happen? How do you live 2 years of your life, 730 days, in a city on the other side of the world, and then all of a sudden decide that it’s enough? Sometimes, I wonder how I could have possibly pulled myself away. London is hard to love, but even harder to leave.
Opening the package made me smile. It was painful, happy, quiet. It made me want to cry. It smelled like Notting Hill. 84 Westbourne Grove. Flat 3. My London. It smelled of warm evenings in a candlelit kitchen. Hot showers after a hard workout. Crisp Spring mornings rushing to get to work. Oh London. How I love thee. What an amazing 730+ days of love, discovery, pain, loss, hope. Two years of crazy travel: a lantern bargained for in the souk in Cairo, a calligraphy pen from Florence, a coffee-table book of Israel, a candy dish from Dubai, blankets from Marrakesh, sea salt from Greece. And my books, my beloved books. Books that brought me inspiration, insight, escape from the winter cold: William Dalrymple, Ann Michaels, Seth Godin, Anais Nain. The Rough Guides to China, Argentina, Italy, Paris, Barcelona, Portugal. The Hedonist’s Guide to London, Dubai. Colouring books from the Tate, origami paper from my favourite art store in SOHO, Moleskines for French vocabulary and business ideas and London dining haunts.
I remember.
Snow in February. Photo night at Shunt. Walks along Southbank. Dinner parties. Cheap Tuesday movie nights. Black dress evenings. Jungle rain. Falling in love.
I found an unsent letter in my Drafts box, dated July 25th, 2009:
Dear London,
I have no words to describe what I am feeling today. You can’t know how much you’ve changed me, how much you’ve lifted me up. Time with you has given me wings.
I came here unsure, broken, scared. There was so much healing to be done, so many dreams to pursue, so many strengths and fears to unlock. You revealed yourself with a stubborn slowness. In a sweet slow dance, you showed yourself. Surprise bouts of joy, serendipitous meetings, crazy sad beautiful stormy nights. The melancholy of you is beautiful. Beautiful sadness. Beautiful joy. A playground for the lost, for the troubled, for those hoping for something more, different, true. Like the dance of love, I fell slow and hard.
You have been my rock, the sad grey constant companion in this place so full of possibility. You bring possibility. Entire universes have opened in my mind’s eye because of you: lives undiscovered, places unexplored, friendships not yet made. You are layered with the hopes and frustrations and fears of millions. Dreams live and die here. Unlikely romances are born here. Chance moments that change lives happen here. I am forever different because of you.
I am enraptured by the gift of your love. And I cannot bring myself to say goodbye.
