I am London.
Even though my Thames doesn't run ever so elegantly with a sumptuous generosity to feast the eyes of the beholder. The doors to my museums were never open, for the walls embrace nothing but tragic pastiches of what was once lived and what never was. There're a few exquisite ones scattered among the rumble undoubtedly, everything has its own cracks to ameliorate it. As you walk by my London eye, you'd be starred at with no expectations and definitely no tenderness. Don't try to see the world through it, my vision of how this world should be was never meant for hopeful orbs.
For my own London bridge is on fire, there's no crossing over to what I could never share. My past and future shall always remain unconnected. With only one thing to break that rule— the resonant magic I perform on my National Theatre, that would be the only show you'd ever be invited to. To take a look inside the royal walls of my Parliament and embrace the fetching collections of my gallery. I'm as evergreen as the tender Hyde park will ever be. Even if the Big Ben kept counting the seconds, minutes and hours for me to blink or turn away. And I have, so it thieved unrecoverable treasures out of my life and I could never point a blaming finger. I hope it's counting my own minutes by now.
Take a look inside the halls of Buckingham palace, you'd see a life made of gold, my first steps were on the crumbles of gold, I was fed with a spoon of pure silver; a camouflage to the what breathed inside the walls. My heart lies at the top of an opulent tower, unreachable. Perhaps it's not even there at all. Have you ever walked down my streets in the rain? While people complained about the weather, even saw no cynosure in the fog. There was once a beautiful redhead who danced while my sky cried out its misery and what a melancholic sky it was. Despite the fact that it changed ever so hastily, allowed the sun up in no time and people were demanded to put their umbrellas down. Only that sweet redhead admired the sight of my streets wet and hustled through them dry.
She called me her home.
I am London.
