ysobelle | Slowly dawning. (Reply)

I was looking up Berwick Street in my A to Z tonight, making sure I know where it is so I can possibly hit the market when I land on Sunday, if I'm not cross-eyed from the flight. Supposedly, there's fabric there, so I want to see what I can get. (Anyone know any good fabric shops in London?) And as I'm looking up the Tube stop, and mentally planning my route, it just hit me: I'm almost there. I'm almost home. It seems so huge and overwhelming and unbelievable, but I'm almost back in London. I was never so alive, so tuned into a city as I was there. The whole place was my fantasyland-- every part of it. I never had trouble getting around, I never failed to be fascinated and enthralled at some level. It feels like stepping back onto its streets will pour the whole city into my body, into my ribs and my skin and my eyes and my throat and my heart, and I'll be so full of that city I won't know how to hold it all.

I actually cried a bit. It's real, and I'm almost there.