On the one hand I’m still in love with London. The way my heart melted every time the sun came out for a few hours to grace the gorgeous architecture of SoHo or South Kensington, the beauty in the cosmopolitan culture hub that embraces anti-conformity which made me feel right at home and especially the way you can go from the traditional to the modern anything in under 15 minutes. I know each time I think of London I’ll get trapped with my pure infatuation for the city.
Despite the aesthetics of the city, what happened, or more or less didn’t happen when I was residing there, is what made our end so bitter. Sitting around waiting for empty promises, as with most relationships, gets tiring. Fighting over wether or not my expectations were too high, or London’s ability to commit was non-existant, didn’t matter because in the end I know we weren’t meant for each other. The endless pain and frustration of watching London move on without me, being better than ever, is half the time too much to bare. The hardship, demotivation and thoughts of not going on anymore begin to linger in my head, but it is always brought down by the one true realisation, that if you compare yourself to others you'll only ever end up bitter. Compare yourself to your past and you can only get better, after all your reality is never the same as anyone else's. This doesn’t mean I love London any less, but just that my love for somewhere else in the world is much greater. In all honest hope after we both settle back down, and re-calm ourselves, the belief that we can once again be amicable to one another lives on.
So here's three cheers to the London Years!