We’ve come to my last day of my two week stay in London. When I wake up I realise that my heart weighed at least a ton. I get up and quickly pack my bag to get rid of anything that will remind me of leaving. I go outside where the humid streets lay midweek empty.
Ten minutes later I ring the door bell to Ornella’s house in Dalston. She has invited me over for a french lunch!
But like always with her, the food gets interrupted with way too many conversations, Nike shoes to try out, photos to be taken and things to show on the internet.
In her massive 70s room filled with flowers, patterned curtains and detailed furniture she shows me the spot outside her house where she witnessed a shooting two days earlier. I can’t recall how many shootings or knife crimes me or my friends have witnessed in our neighbourhoods the past years, but it has been a few now. Ultimately it will be us having to choose between having the crime or rents killing us.
In her sofa we lie like proper girlfriends, talking about love whilst Ornie somewhat tries to fix my hair that’s oh so shiny but it’s too soft eh?
She tells me about her 2005 self and all the mischief she used to get up to. Teens are too brilliant, disgusting and lovely to not make films about.
Right about here, two hours later than expected, the quiche is done and we have to hurry and eat.
A short while and two trains later I am at the American Apparel store in Covent Garden where Lovisa works. Me and Flora were suppose to lunch with her during her break, but as my quiche incident was prolonged a few hours I missed it. Instead we hang out in the store, Lovisa going on about all her problems with the shittiest of attitude. I adore that about her. Can’t wait to go and spend the summer in London and be able to see this person all the time.
Later Flora and I walk the tiny paths in Soho until we find a hidden little cafe. We sit down planning her moving to San Fransisco and my starting a company to take over the world.
The dusk falls over Clapton and I meet up Daniel at home. We walk to the store to pick out ingredients for dinner. His hand holding mine so violently that I feel my heart will break. We are both still trying to avoid mentioning that I am leaving tomorrow.
Back home the speakers play happy tunes as we cook. It’s weird how a silence can scream so loudly. I walk up behind him, hugging his waist, feeling him halt in chopping the vegetables.
– You know I don’t want to leave.
– I so don’t want to see you go.
But the morning after I do.
Here are my favourite days from my two week stay in London: