London

When I first moved to London I thought I was in love. It wasn't that all consuming love that you hear about in movies, it was a love based out of mutual attraction and the right time and the right place. Like all loves found and lost I cried when I moved. I was alone and the boy I cared about was a million miles away. The excitement and apprehension of being in a new place without friends without family made me hold onto that love, hold onto dear life because it was convenient. This isn't about that. This is about a love that was at all times inconvenient, forever uneasy, and infinitely all consuming. This is about the love I lost at 30. When by any account of the imagination one should be settled in, working towards that white picket fence dream that I never knew I had. The nuclear family I'd always discounted. The family that I thought I would share with S.