This evening London was in the mood for an absence, weeping and sobbing quietly as it was, inconsolable child. My self joined the town in the wet drizzle; in fact, a certainly unadvised activity for a heart with a budding hole. If I were a poet, I'd keep wr; if a storyteller, I would dry your eyes up with a tender tale of love and superb humanity; if a musician, I will fill the lagoons of sadness with the airs of emotion. But, unfortunately, I am none.
The night came down beautifully upon the deserted town. Naked and ravishing, London offered itself to the eyes of the lover, the eyes of the ones looking far in and beyond. Marvellous sightseeing for a boiling heart... If the story could just be played back from the very beginning! Life is like a fluorescent ice-cream _it only tastes afterwards; its senses run along its memories, its beauties come up for us mortals to feel once time passes away.
Oh, how bitter, how sweet Life is!
What a perfect gift for the courageous heart!
God, give me one.
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