Longing for London

I think about London every day. I think about the adventures, about the freedom, about the opportunities I had there. I think about it and my heart aches.

Who I was there, I am not the same here. In London, I was adventurous, I was fearless, I was unstoppable. I felt like myself. When I came home, I tried to stay that way, but others’ expectations that I would be the same person as when I left for London forced me back to my old self.

I think about London and my heart aches because all I want to do is return to where I felt like my truest self.

Every day it becomes more and more like a dream, like it didn’t actually happen. What once were thoughts of London are memories, and now those memories are becoming numb. I try with all my might to keep them in the front of my mind, but they get pushed back by other thoughts. My biggest fear is losing the memories.

There is always something that reminds me of London, but the reminders are getting dull too. Things that used to trigger emotion aren’t emotional anymore. My souvenir t-shirts? Oh, they’re just t-shirts with a city name on it. The photos on my wall? They’ve become nothing more than wallpaper. They’re losing their significance. They, like me, have memories that are slowly fading.

I think about London – just barely, now – and my heart aches because it’s getting harder and harder to recall.

When I’m not thinking about London, I’m thinking about plans for the next time I’ll go. I know I will be back before long. In fact, I’ve made a promise to myself to live there again someday, to grow back into the daring person I almost became. But until then, my heart aches.

Go abroad, they say. You won’t regret it. They’re right, but they don’t tell you about how much it will hurt. Going to London was the best experience of my life, but going also brought the worst thing I’ve ever experienced – leaving.

London has a piece of my heart and now my heart aches.