It’s London—it’s night, it’s nearly morning, and after an unseasonably sunny day, the mist is settling over cranes and tall glass buildings—it’s still mild, but it’s refreshingly cool—we run for the 55, I’m wearing a novelty veil and a sash which keeps falling around my ankles, a car slows and a man shouts with one elbow leaning out of the window, ‘don’t do it!’—we make the bus—my friend writes our names in the condensed window and puts a heart around our initials—it’s the temporariness of it that makes me blink back tears as I smile, sat on my friend’s lap with her arms gripping me so tight—on the bridge, overlooking everything, I feel overwhelmed with love
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