The need to get away was never more pronounced. To go away and take with me whatever I can salvage. Some love, some cover, some laughter and a lot of freedom. Oh wait, that is mine, right?
It is surprising how memory works and whether it is talking to us. I often and much more often now than ever before think of London streets. Streets that hold no special memory - shops I just passed by unmindfully at the time are all so clear to me now - yes now - almost 3 years after. Some cupcake shop, some turn, Kingsway, some corner at a busy crossing - none of these holds any meaning for me. Nothing happened there. I walk on those streets even now. Flashes of a quaint streetlight of a busy road, a decrepit wall, an empty street by night, wet tarmac and the reflection of light. And I am transported. I can feel it, smell it, I make an effort to come out of it.
I do not now why these vague memories. Nothing was left unfinished there. There is no real reason too I know. But the memories come and go, pass me by and more often than not I associate them with freedom, or is it longing?
