The Love of Your Life

 This happened on a usual day, when I wanted to write something good and whatever it was seemed to decrease its' value with every line I drew with my pen. That day was completely usual if you can call it the one when you want to quit your job, quit your dreams, quit anything which distracts you, only to kick the invisible door to something you call meaningful, inside, where no one can watch. I was looking for something in my bag and then, surprisingly I found two London postcards. No, they were not meant for anybody from my family or friends. There were for me. Just like spotting a nice inexpensive dress in a window, I saw them and I just had to have them. For myself. One of them askew, wrongly cut apparently, no one else would ever buy it. But for me, it was my London. Askew and washed out. Because you see, I love London. 

 For long time I have been thinking whether a city can be the love of your life. Having a soul of a cat, I see places and people equally: with their experiences, kindness, sometimes bitterness. You get to know them slowly, exploring the hidden corners of their dusty souls. The places are more patient, they let you come closer, have a look and bare their chests in front of you so you get to know them until it hurts. 

 I am being cruel while writing about cities. I am being demanding and exaggerating every awkward move of them, I am being angry and paranoically scared of rejection. When I love a city I can be an asshole. 

 I can't remember living in London as my biggest dream, but it used to be my sister's one and I always tried to get out of my mind all of the dreams which seemed to be more hers than mine. It all started with a notebook my mum bought me for my English classes when I was maybe 9, maybe 10, with a photo of London on the cover. I can't remember how I knew it was London, whether was it a red bus or a telephone box, or Big Ben or London Eye in the background. But I knew it was London with streets in the rain. And there was a couple standing in the rain. I don't remember the guy. But I do remember the girl. I have her in front of my eyes for my whole life.

 She is standing there, smiling, looking completely happy like this street and this rain was everything she ever wanted. Her hair is tied up in a lose braid and she's wearing a motorcycle style leather jacket and a colourful skirt made of patchwork. The perfect moment, captured in this one photograph talking to a child in another corner of the world through the cover of a school notebook. I asked my mum to make a skirt like this for me. I haven't seen this notebook anymore after graduating from school, no matter how hard I searched for it. But it was irrelevant. My life was already running, since that towards this perfect moment, inevitable to happen, and I was running through this life to become this girl from the photograph. 

 The map of my London is just like this postcard, askew and with corners ripped of by time. It's impossible to find a straight line of it. No wonder- it's drawn on my heart, with several spots coming out of my head without overthinking. 

Walks along the Thames

 Especially in the rain. Then I feel that I could stay forever near the water and that the true is I don't need much but this water. In my heart it's the walk between Waterloo and London Bridge, to pass Shakespeare's Globe and walk through Millennium Bridge from Tate Modern to St.Paul's Cathedral. I walked through it many times, both for real and in my dreams, and everytime I do it feels like a first time. 

Tower of London by night

It has to be seen from the bus passing through Tower Bridge, like entering a magical gate glittering in the darkness, a monumental alternative reality catching you and making you immerse in another world: whatever world you want to imagine. Then you get out of the bus and go down towards St. Katherine's Docks to start loving the breeze of the water and smell of fried food from the restaurants nearby. You can breathe it in and make your sight a space amongst the ships until you lose yourself enough to accept feeling small. 

Battersea Park

 People can say it's posh, over popular and many other things but once you enter it will evoke you the pure meaning of magic. Battersea Park invites you inside with the entire autumn, as there is always autumn over there, the early one, the one from calm and friendly dream. As autumn needs to be, the park makes you warm with a touch of your own hand. And there is pagoda, waiting for you hidden in canopies like an element of another world placed in a real world, a piece of dream in the reality, a sudden guest from another, simultaneously told story. 

Palm Tree pub

 I have to admit I haven't been there for a while. In my mind I see it all red with welcoming yellow light of the lanterns. Hidden within the trees of Mile End Park it reminded me of an awaited shelter after a long journey. If interiors were birds, Palm Tree would be a cockatoo, spectacular and bringing back the memories which were never true. 

London in the rain 

 Imagine any street in central London, any can be fine as long as you can spot London Eye or Big Ben in the background, or see a red telephone box inside. It has to rain, but it doesn't need to be heavy, is just that in the rain we can see the best who we are, just in front of us. On that day let me tie my hair in  lose braid and stand on the street, just to look around and see the view. Then I would be crying, or no, it's just a rain drop softly landing on my face. Then suddenly time stops and chases the moment in the history, and captures it on a photo: a photo of me on the cover of an old notebook.