why can't i let myself let go

i can't even look at pictures anymore. for me it's music. it's memories. it's the things we don't have pictures of. it's the things i miss that i can't put into words. it's the way i felt when i walked down the street. it's the way the butter melted on the bread when i dipped it into the soup at lunch. it's the way the wind would rush across my face as a bus sped by. it's the way my umbrella would bump into everyone else's on rainy mornings. it's the way the pint glasses looked, lined up on the table. it's the way i felt when i stood on that spot in the center of the globe stage and said my lines to the whole wide world. it's the way i could just plop onto that red couch on weeknights and talk for hours. it's the way wine would taste when i drank it out of a nutella jar. it's the way i felt when i'd stand alone waiting for tube, headphones in. it's the way the sound of the street would filter through our window at night, no matter how tightly we closed it. it's the way my stomach would hurt sometimes from laughing too much.

sometimes i'd wonder if my city was made out of stars. everywhere we looked-- lights, lights, lights. when it rained, sometimes they'd blend together; every car that rushed by looked like it was painting streaks of color onto the streets. sometimes i'd look out my window and pinch myself because i after weeks and months i still couldn't believe it. there is something about that place that still has my heart, and will always have my heart. you could live there a thousand years and never discover all its secrets. london is alive; it has been alive long before us and will live long after us. we're just a dot on the timeline, a tiny world in the city of stars-- suns for every new galaxy.