#Let me go back.

I’ve been in Italy for a month now. And London seems so far away. Yet, she is still so very vivid in my head. I miss her, immensely. Days feel empty and slow and boring without her. I feel like something great has been taken away from me with extreme cruelty.

I’m with my family, at my seaside house, I should feel like home, but still, something is missing. Truth be told, everything I need is missing. It just isn’t here. I miss getting off the tube at Temple and walking along the Strand. I miss getting in Trafalgar and sitting there, on the stairs right in front of the National Gallery, looking at the Big Ben, just few metres away from me. I miss moving towards Leicester Square, then Piccadilly Circus and sitting right there below Cupid. I miss strolling around Regent Street and Oxford Circus and Oxford Street. I miss going grocery shopping at Sainsbury’s in Whitechapel. I miss walking towards my uni in Aldgate East. I miss getting a hot tea at Costa Coffee at the corner of Goulston Street. I miss strolling around Bricklane and Shoreditch and Old Street. I even miss The Archers Pub, that’s how desperate I am! Everything just felt so right and natural. London (and my lovely East) just felt mine.

I miss the places. I miss the people. I miss our dynamics. I miss London life, the good, good life as we used to call it. Truth be told, after crying the entire morning, when I first touched Italian ground on the 11th of July I didn’t even feel that bad. I felt like “Okay, I’m in Italy to enjoy summer with my family. I’ll be gone in a week.” Yes, sure, a week. Weeks started passing by and I started to realize, everyday more, how London was just getting further away from me. How my stay in Italy had become definitive. And how me and London were expired. I mean, not that I’m ever gonna give up on London. There’s never gonna be an end, a farewell, a full stop. We’re just stuck on pause. But I started feeling more and more depressed as days passed by.

I’m hung up on memories. Pictures. Songs. Whenever I hear one of the songs from the soundtrack of these amazing, unbelievable, unforgettable ten months, vivid memories start blossoming in my head. The days. The hours. The minutes. The moments. The nights. The afternoons. A succession of images, voices, laughters, tears, hugs, kisses, affection, friendships, love. It’s like going through a very (VERY) bad break-up. Like those relationships that end for no apparent reason and you’re there, wondering how that could happen to you when you’re still so very much in love.

Sometimes I still find myself planning my days as if I were in London. The other day, for example, I was grocery shopping and I wanted some frozen stuff I couldn’t find at the supermarket and I was like “Okay then, I’ll have to go to Iceland and buy some of that”. Yeah, sure, Iceland. As if there was any here. As if I could just turn the corner of Stepney Way and be there in 5 minutes walking. Also, few days ago I was complaining about seaside life and I was like “I just want to get on the tube and get to Charing Cross and sit in Trafalgar, or go sit in a park.” DAMMIT, I CAN’T! But I would love to. I mean, I would love to do those things that were natural to me and are not so anymore.

And I get excited whenever I receive an email from TfL. I mean, I panic at first, cause we all know what a TfL email means: weekend planned closures; then I start thinking of the alternatives; then I realize it. I realize I’m not to be bothered by that stuff anymore, and I should probably unsubscribe TfL newsletter. But I can’t. It hurts too much. Receiving those emails makes me feel home. It does give me the impression I’m still not done. And Sainsbury’s. Oh, I love Sainsbury’s emails. Some great offers, some bonus Nectar points. Some friendly images on the screen. And what about The Roxy’s Radio on Thursday or Joyriders on Friday emails? It’s like I still have the chance to go there and enjoy a nice night down Oxford Street. Or my agency, I mean, the one I used to work for. I’ve received an email for a promo the other day and I was like “Oh I should get that!” if only I could. Even Pacha stalkers’ emails are now happily welcomed. It feels good to know they still want me there and keep on sending “juicy” offers to convince. Truth is, It’s hard. Part of me wishes it was all over, I mean, that all the emails just stopped cause reading of all the things I used to do and I cannot do anymore just hurts. But on the other side, not seeing those things would kill me. It would be sort of you-just-dreamed-it-all feeling and I don’t want that. I’d much rather be reminded every single day of what I lived and what my life was all about. Plus I cannot bring myself to unsubscribe.

Also, I’m hung up on foods. I have some cup-a-soups from London and I eat them and I think about the times we (me and my flatmates) used to sit all together in one room. With the electric radiator on, cause heating didn’t work. And we just stayed there, eating and talking about what happened to us during the day and laughing and making fun of each other. And it felt good. And right. And familiar.

And what about fb pages? I’ve basically liked every single place/corner/shop/club I’ve been to. And I’m constantly reminded of our recurrent appointments. Like, I don’t know, like Walkabout Karaoke nights on Thursdays, or Fridays’ Retro Fever. And Tiger Tiger tables and free beer bucket. And Be@One Happy Hours. And Bar Rumba guestlist. And Primark cheap shopping. And The Body Shop body butters (not that I don’t have any left here). And KOKO Buttoned Down Disco every first Saturday of the month. And Trafalgar Square events.

They say it’s just nostalgia. They say I’m gonna get over it. That I’m gonna get used to my very old life again. But how can you? How can you forget all you had? How could I forget all London gave me? How could I forget my life? I just can’t. Comparisons are easily done once you had a taste of perfection. And I’ve had more than just a taste. I lived perfection. I was in love. And I’ve been forced to leave. I won’t get over it. I won’t forget. And I’ll keep on comparing. I’ll keep on wanting more. I’ll keep on wanting London back. I’ll keep on wanting us back. Craving for just one more day. And a month away feels like the eternity.

One month out, too many of them still to go. Let me go back, please!