God save the Queen if I never return to London. This city has properly raised me into something more than I was before I came. It will be a hard page to turn over.
I had 63 hours in London, but each hour feels days apart. I went to see Dawson play in Shoreditch, I bought my last round of Beigel Bakery goods, a last round of pub drinks, laundry, went to the British Museum, Portobello Road Market, Covent Garden, out to a very strange club, I ate pie, fish and chips and I walked London until the sun came up. I took friends to the train station until on the third day, it was my turn.
On the final stretch of hours that I have since been awake, Jordan and I managed to see Portobello Market, get caught in a hail storm with suitcases, souvenir shop because we haven’t had five months, pack, bake cookies twice, prepare tomorrow’s train meals and attend our program’s Farewell Dinner at the place it all started five very short months ago. I knew I wouldn’t sleep and I knew I had things to say goodbye to so I managed to convince (with cookies and henna tattoos) Jordan, Marlena, Amanda, Walter, Kelle and Shatika to join in at 3am for an adventure. We walked the Thames to Millennium Bridge for St. Paul’s Cathedral and a lit Tower Bridge, then carried on for a sunrise at the Eye and Parliament while stopping to stand on the bank. Just after 5am, we all fell silent and dropped at the glow above East London and the sinking feeling of leaving made me absolutely sick to my stomach. This was exactly how I had wanted to spend my last day, but it wasn’t suppose to come so soon.
I don’t have words at the moment to explain just how horrible it feels to leave. I need some time to sleep and some time to think.