Sometimes I forget I am in London.
I wake up and I feel like there is no space and no time. If I reach out far back enough, my body and mind a coil, I can even touch my childhood. Moving my feet under the warm duvet, I get to a cold spot and if I move further and further on, more cold places appear. I warm them with my memories.
Sometimes I forget I am.
I just stretch far enough to reach places that only I know, memories only I can vouch for. All I know is who I was, and if I forget that I am someone else and I don’t like people and how late is it, anyway, is there any more time left for me to become?
I look ahead, just for a bit, a spark, a glimmer. There are people I felt passing by like a breeze. They were busy building their lives, their houses, choosing their shoes, parting their hair. All these things amuse me, move me, challenge me and scare me, all at once. I still don’t know when a certain emotion will hit.
I am here in London.
I am here. And so is everything else. At once.