For all the times I've been in London, it was at 2 am that I saw it be its warmest
and kindest. That particular night, I had
been travelling on a bus from Oxford,
it was only me and the driver. It felt like it was just me and the driver
in the whole of England.
The motorway was quiet, long, with the occasional lights flickering with the frequency
of a slow heartbeat. Monotony was exciting, it kept me alert before the lack of sleep and the
nurturing rocking of the bus took the best of me.
I woke up and I immediately felt light, curious, tranquil, the street light around me evoking a feeling of magic. I wondered which city this was, it never occurred to me that it could be London until I recognised some familiar landmarks. It was a sleepy masculine London rather than the annoying fashionable hipster London full of slow crowds of pretentious people. It was calm, its voice-soothing, the timbre- metallic yet warm, its skin made of stone. It was dressed to impress and an attitude to remember: regal, altogether composed, intelligent and...cheeky, somewhat. One you could fall in love with, because it was ultimately honest. Bitch had style.
Vacated by its usual inhabitants, who were resting after a day of shopping, working, rushing, changing tube lines, calling each other to arrange dinner plans, the city behaved like a person. When left alone in its own company, it was stripped of expectations and conversations. I loved it for that, it was a thousand times more alive to me than during the day. It claimed the respect it felt it deserved, for its history and looks, much like a well-groomed man, respect I gladly showed. Respect I would never have shown during the day, when London usually behaved like a spoiled slutty teenager.
I woke up and I immediately felt light, curious, tranquil, the street light around me evoking a feeling of magic. I wondered which city this was, it never occurred to me that it could be London until I recognised some familiar landmarks. It was a sleepy masculine London rather than the annoying fashionable hipster London full of slow crowds of pretentious people. It was calm, its voice-soothing, the timbre- metallic yet warm, its skin made of stone. It was dressed to impress and an attitude to remember: regal, altogether composed, intelligent and...cheeky, somewhat. One you could fall in love with, because it was ultimately honest. Bitch had style.
Vacated by its usual inhabitants, who were resting after a day of shopping, working, rushing, changing tube lines, calling each other to arrange dinner plans, the city behaved like a person. When left alone in its own company, it was stripped of expectations and conversations. I loved it for that, it was a thousand times more alive to me than during the day. It claimed the respect it felt it deserved, for its history and looks, much like a well-groomed man, respect I gladly showed. Respect I would never have shown during the day, when London usually behaved like a spoiled slutty teenager.
I exited the bus, said goodbye to the driver. It felt special
to me that we had shared this bus ride only with each other, in the middle of the
night. Walking towards my train, once again
I felt protected by the city which used its tall, dark buildings to snuggle me with
their metallic and stone arms. I couldn't sense neither the cold nor the tiredness
anymore.
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