London Cold

 To The Lady on the Train,

I have landed in a strange city of overcast skies and confused streets. It does not feel altogether foreign but the familiarity makes the unfamiliar feel even stranger.

There are no straight roads. There is no sky. The building press upon you, the cars come from every direction, people are either not to be seen or crowding your every step. It is an ordered chaos where direction seems to have no meaning. 

One cannot navigate this place by latitudes and longitudes. There is no sense of direction; no north, south, east, or west here. The streets all claim to have names, but dammit if I can find them. There are tiny alley ways that lead to stores and pubs, alive with people milling outside, drinks in hand. There are huge limestone buildings that stand right on the sidewalk with mysterious heavy ornate doors leading to a ... well ... who knows what it might lead to. 

I am here to work and work is a distraction from the toil of being here without you.

Would you mind if I pretended that you were here with me? It would make the cold less so. It would make the crowds disappear. It would turn the ally ways into adventures and the city into our playground. The days would be for exploring the city and our nights would be spent exploring the mysteries that we do not even realize that we possess.  

Would you mind if I pretended that I was someone else, someone who could have you here with me? 

You are that girl, but I'm not that boy.

The Man in the Station