Dear London

Dear London,

That was quite a bitter breakup, was it not? I had been leaving clues for months that our relationship was deteriorating slowly, I'm not sure if you got them or just pretended you didn't. I'm sorry I was too exhausted, depressed and drained to fully accept you exactly as you are: loud, stressfull, messy... I'm sorry I forgot to tell you that I loved you because I was far too deep in my own misery. In all honesty, London, I love you. But you wore me out like an old pair of shoes and I wasn't ready to take the next step.

You're stunning, that you are. I love the way the night lights shine on your curves and edges, the red buses speeding through like little fireballs, filled with people that are probably just as oblivious to your beauty as I was.

We were together for two years and I treasure them dearly, no matter how much I say aloud that I hate you. We share so many memories, some fantastic and brath-taking, some heartbreaking and chest rippling. You made me cry with both joy and sadness, you made me laugh and grin, you made me stay up late on work nights because I missed who I used to be before we met. Now I'm thankful to have met you and the person you've forced me to become.

You were a hurricane which I was not ready for, you destroyed the foundations in which my beliefs were built upon and you left me vulnerable in a way I had never experienced before but now I see why you did it and I appreciate how much that's molded me into who I am today.

I'm sorry we had to part ways, and I hope you also learned something from me. Life will go on as it always has and you'll stay as busy as always, while I'm enjoying some peace and quiet with a city so different from you. But you were my first adventure and will always be.

Love,
Mariana.