London called my name.
I can feel the crisp, salty air against my cheek as I nestle deep into the wool.
I escape the chill and embrace it in the same motion.
My legs move with the rhythm of an older world, my feet meet history at a rapid and intoxicating pace.
Every shop has an allure that is familiar and old, every book a scent of something past on.
Here lies my great aspirations and inspirations; here lies the stone of my past.
Something beautiful is caught in my eye.
Something warm lingers on my breath and flows through my veins.
Something called London.
One of my dearest friends has headed off to the Motherland for a semester at Kingston college; I couldn’t’ be more proud and jealous, simultaneously.
Carolyn inspires me as she races for her dreams and travels across the ocean. I’ve always wanted to more than visit, but to live in the British Isles, they seem to call to me constantly and linger in my thoughts.
For present, I will have to live vicariously through dear Carolyn but someday we should return together.
Arm and arm we should parade the cobblestone.
Visit the relics, search for the food of vegetarian consumption which I hear, it near to impossible to locate. Let’s prouse the used bookstores for the perfect find and walk the steps of Wilde, Churchill, Keats, Potter, McKellen and Waugh. Let’s dress in layers and bumble about, drink tea and visit the countryside.
Yes, someday I will have my time in London. Perhaps with Carolyn or a certain Russian.
But for now…its Carolyn’s adventure.
Bringing the South to the English one pen stroke and bacon biscuit at a time.