London Was Always My Soulmate

I miss the grey fingers of your smoke,

around my throat,

as I spent the night,

sleeping while awake,

in a dreamlike state,

tattooing trees,

with all the ways I loved you.

I remember longing when I was with you,

always longing,

because I’m lonely,

and unlucky,

still just the way that God made me,

but longing,

with your eyes upon me,

soothes and satisfies me,

for a little while,

long enough that I can pretend I live in a movie.

I was a big star,

montages down your boulevards,

always “Coming soon!”

but never quite arriving,

thriving on the thought that I was someone’s Bridget Jones or Charity Hope Valentine,

a brass band,

a bumbling but loveable beauty,

that will be face to face with good fortune,

one sweet day.

I miss the grey fingers of your smoke,

around my throat,

polluted and poisoned,

by how the past could never stay,

and how hard it is to accept,

that I’m just a girl,

who used to wander around London,

alone,

to take the edge off of her endless loneliness.