A Love Letter

(I apologize in advance for the melancholy tone of this post-- I blame the meds; aside from turning me into Pamela Anderson, I'm also a moody, grumpy, mega whiner. Good times. You've been warned.)

My dearest London,


I have loved you since the moment I set eyes on you-- a giddy 10 year old, with her first trip away from North America, I was beyond excited for London.

To me, even then, you were magical. You were the city of Kings and Queens, of Wendy Darling, Mary Poppins, of theater, museums, tea and scones. I fell head over heels.

You were the city I longed for all through my youth. The city I couldn't wait to return to.

And when I did, when I found you again, it was as if no time has passed. That is the mark of true love, is it not? I spent my first day walking around Green Park in the rain-- to me, there is nothing more magical than chilly, rainy London. I fell more in love in an instant.
I know there are cities I should love more-- Paris, Vienna--all of Italy. And maybe they will one day usurp my adoration of you, but, London, you will always be my first love.

You are the city where I rediscovered my love of Victor Hugo.

The city where my dad met and loved the opera ghost.
The city that made me sing.

The city of Shakespeare's Globe.

The city that brought us the Royal Wedding.

My city. My love.

I can't wait to return to your comforting embrace, to your hustle and bustle, to your beauty. To you.

Dear London, I love you. Thank you for being you. And helping to make me who I am.

I'll be seeing you.

Soon-- of course.

xox,
Me