London, I'm Flying.

The days are coming to an end, here on Edgware Road in Central London. Now would be the appropriate time to explain to myself, and everyone else, what I’ve learned about life, love, society, passion, influence, and money in a world where the latter often carries the most weight.

Instead, however, I am contemplating every keystroke as I look out the dirty window of my flat at another sunset over a city that, from this angle, looks quite like a crowded American skyline.

Eight floors up, and I can still feel the street begging for my feet to hit the pavement.

That’s the difference.

London is eager for a hand to hold. She is not sufficient without the people that comprise her. A lot of folks would claim this for every city-but I would disagree. I met Edinburgh-I met a city responsible for her own support in every way, shape, and form. Edinburgh molded me-left a mark on my life-I did little more than contribute to the number of padded soles that have treaded down her streets year after year.

London needed someone, perhaps not me, but an open soul, to bring her out of her shell. She’s quite shy, to be honest. Some of her streets are humble, others bustling and crowded with market and children free of the hands of their parents. Others are serenely quiet, even in the chaos of the surroundings.

There was a strange silence at the doors of Westminster Abbey when I last set foot on the property.

And as soon as I crossed the street to Big Ben, the noise returned, as though someone had removed fictional ear plugs from my ears, with just enough time for me to make subtle eye-contact with the calm London that does not often stop by this dingy flat miles away.

Call it Divine Intervention.

Call it Insanity.

Perhaps a glimpse was all I needed.

So, have I fallen in love with London?

With the hushed alley ways, the silent museums of history, the cobblestone streets, the gorgeous breeze that dances across my face every day, the love, the age, the living, the dead…

Yes.

Yes, I have.

As this city is one of death and rebirth, so am I a cyclical creature.

I finally found a connection that could remind me there is a certain peace in such a pace.

The Burgundy Couch

I was laying on the couch in my flat at 2 AM this morning, with a duvet that wasn't my own, and a pillow I could have done without. Facing the open window, I watched for about ninety minutes as the sky began to get lighter and lighter. I left the lights and the music off, put down my book, rested my head on the back of the couch's unfortunate burgundy exterior, and settled into one of my favorite places-the realm of thought.

It's been difficult to truly have moments to myself since I have arrived here. I live with five other women, and I have been enjoying their company, along with the company of the other four members of our group. There have been day travels to museums and nights spent barefoot on the streets of London, searching for our way home from festivities that lasted longer than the tube could bear to stay open. I've been dreaming, singing, laughing, crying, loving, learning, and contemplating in the presence of others-all too tired to return to my spring-filled mattress at night for personal reflection.

Perhaps my mattress is so uncomfortable because she does not want to listen to what my mind has to say.
Perhaps the couch prefers my company.

In any case, as I stared out the window of my flat this morning, eight stories from the crooked sidewalks and nocturnal residential Londoners crowding my street, I felt alive.

It occurs to me at this moment that clarification might be necessary. There are so many people in this world that claim to feel alive, at least it seems, while they are living the day-to-day. Wake-up, coffee, kids to school, car to work, traffic, paperwork, lunch, afternoon slump, kids home from school, dinner, late night tv, bed, sleep, wake...

That might be living, but I certainly don't think that makes you alive.

After a day of exploration in the rain, clad in my soggy boots and clothes, I settled in for conversation with some dear friends. A few Strongbow's later, my mind and body were begging for me to find a place for myself. It was at that moment that I knew, I was alive.

When your mind and body can appeal to you in ways you are unaware of, you know you're alive.

I settled into the couch. Exchanged telepathic thoughts with the light of the moon, and fell asleep in pure bliss.

That's the first time I've felt that way in nearly four years.
And I refuse to wait another four for further company and clarification.

Tonight I will return to the couch-to the moonlight serenade-and pray for company in the silence that surrounds me.

I will not let go.