If you've ever...

Lived in London. Visited London. Travelled the World. Lived in Australia. Visited Australia. Even longed to live in either lands. Fell in love. Nursed a broken heart. Tried to make sense of your 20s. Or if you enjoy an entertaining read, then this content has your name all over it! 

Sunday, May 23, 2010

London is like an ex

So is it wrong that eight months later I can still feel the cold of winter mornings on my cheeks as I would battle the sea of dark coats on the way to work. Still feel the warmth of the heater and oven on a Sunday night when the housemates put on a feast using fresh farmer's veges from the Abbeville Road Market. Still taste the merlot lingering on my lips while the fire warmed my skin during post-work drinks at the Windmill.

But, it's not all romantic thoughts. I can still feel my eyes cast down staring at the endless lumps of blackened gum on the footpaths. I can still feel the unimpressed stares of Tesco employees as they push my humous, yoghurt and white wine through the check outs. And I can still feel the dead silence and stillness of a tube ride. Eyes down. Eye contact kept to a minimum, even if he is good looking. Continue this universal eye-language even when departing the tube, and speed up legs until you crush into the pram (or buggy...) infront, and then curse it. Even though you're not actually running late for anything, the way you're programmed makes you feel like you are anyway.

And this rush, this feeling on of being on the edge, is strangely addictive. It's like you're part of the big mechanics that makes the world go round. London is like that. I'm shamelessly addicted to the place, even though it's been eight months since I called it home. It's like an ex that you try to forget, you know it can be bad for you; it's best to move on. But at the same time flashbacks of the best memories of your life come flooding back, and you just want to see it, taste it, and experience it for all its good and bad just one more time.