A Love Letter

I miss you, London. I'm pining.

I miss the thick smoggy smell that you have in the summer heat, that smell that gets right down in your lungs and parties with your stomach. I miss the way you look so elegant and composed with the rain dripping down on you. I miss the buzzing and whirring sounds of the traffic and the people and the lights and the screams. I miss the way you intoxicate me with your energy, the way you make me giddy with excitement at what could be going on around me as I walk down your streets, what's happening behind all your doors and windows and walls. I even miss the way you can be cruel to me, how you can make me feel so alone and afraid, so fragile and small. But yet you make me feel powerful too, you make me feel on the edge of world, like I'm about to tip over into everything that you hold and just get lost right within your heart.

I can't write as well without you around me. Nothing here inspires me and fills me up with words and thoughts and places and people in the same way that you can. You are my muse, my obsession, my soulmate, my soul, my pleasure, my pain, my light, my life.