This is London

London is

Simple moments

Friends kissing each other’s cheeks

Translate bar in Shoreditch

Kissing strangers in toilets

Not knowing what to say

Walks through Primrose Hill

Being charged £40 for getting on the wrong train

Watching strangers puke in front of you

Canceling Uber last minute

Saturday’s walking around Southbank

99p ice cream

Tesco Express and Waitrose

Barry M nail polish in every single shade

Hang ups and missed connections

George

Trying to remember who you are

Never saving money

Going through Borough Market for samples at lunch

Camden Lock and all the punks

Wishing you’d bump into Colin Firth

Films being made on street corners

Early morning birds

Time

Happiness

Content

Life

Love

Always

London is all these things

And way more to me.

London is moments

That I can’t quite grasp anymore.

 

Be sure to follow Sometime in London on Instagram for more moments in London.

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A Poem Loved By Someone Else

For Emma, who is always close even though she is very far away. Because sometimes you get hit by a car and life gets put into perspective. Like the fact that life doesn’t always think of you.

“It is all loneliness, the way you live.
You get up and make the bed like you are trying
to prove a point. You make coffee that is
never
quite right and never finish it. This is the third day
you’ve worn this shirt. Eventually, you will paint
your nails again, wash the grease from your hair.
Once you have someone besides your own reflection
to impress.

You go to parties where you know
you will only stay an hour. Lean quietly against the wall,
watching people with enviably easy laughter.
Your smile is a cracked boat in a flooded river. Close,
but still useless. You do not talk to strangers, just sit there
like a begging dog beside the dinner table,
with eyes that say “Please, come, be my friend.
I am a coward, but I’m hungry.”

— Clementine von Radics, “But Lately”

Friday, I’m not in love

I have nothing original to say today. I’m feeling stagnate and ordinary in my own mind. My body smells strongly of coffee and my heart seems to be beating out of my chest. Perhaps that fifth cup of coffee was too much for my insides to handle, but I needed it to finish that essay. Fall break didn’t come soon enough. I feel like my brain is all over the place. I wanted to write something of my own today. I wanted to give you something that you’d be proud of and enjoy and identify with, instead I slept and sat in a Starbucks for five hours trying to write an essay. An essay that is awful and boring and that I don’t care about. Instead, I leave you with a poet that inspires me. I hope it inspires you.

“I wonder if you know yet that you’ll leave me. That you
are a child playing with matches and I have a paper body.
You will meet a girl with a softer voice and stronger arms and she
will not have violent secrets or an affection for red wine or eyes
that never stay dry. You will fall into her bed and I’ll go back
to spending Friday nights with boys who never learn my last name.

I have chased off every fool who has tried to sleep beside me
You think it’s romantic to fuck the girl who writes poems about you.
You think I’ll understand your sadness because I live inside my own.
But I will show up at your door at 2 am, wild-eyed and sleepless.
and try and find some semblance of peace in your breastbone
and you will not let me in. You will tell me to go home.”

Clementine von Radics