I hope I get to see you again.
See you in the museums of London and the streets full of people with their impeccable dress sense ; stockings, high heels, jackets and upturned noses. I hope I get to drink with you in the old pubs frequented by famous authors and famous parrots . Smell you in the smoke that arises from exotic food sold in street markets. I hope I get to sit beside you in the subway while your nose is buried in your book, or with you on the side of the road by the homeless guy with the dog , or sit on the cold floor in front of the street musician who’s playing some sort of chinese flute. I’ll smile at you while you feed pigeons in front of the Tate , God knows pigeons scare me witless.
I hope I get to see you in Degas and van Gogh, standing so close to you I could almost nose bump your art. So close. I hope I get to walk with you by the river thames . The water is dirty but the atmosphere, magical.
I hope I’ll get to watch more broadway with you, crying with you one more time , not knowing why we are crying.
You come off a bit cold and very very polite but I know, I can tell, you and I are just like old friends, waiting patiently till we see each other again, smiling at the memories over a cup of Ceylon Tea.