Intellect

London (20)

Violetta

It was cooler than what I was used too, but now that the summer has faded into fall, I expected nothing less. There seemed to a kindness in the air. I couldn't help but revel in the thick breeze, and the grey skies.

I chose London because it seemed like a place where every dreams of going but no one ever leaves... and that must be for a reason. Whether you stay for family, the culture... love. If it's worth fighting for, and worthing staying then this place must mean something.

I haven't gotten used to my surroundings. I've only been here for a week. But my flat is nice, my roommate nicer, and the scenery that grows outside my window gives me a calm I can't seem to ignore.

And for once I feel... content.

And if content is my happy, I will take it for what it is. For the first time, in a very long time, I live without shame, or guilt, or a burden on my shoulders. For once I walk down streets, and feel certain that I could belong, and feel okay with my choices, and my life.

My feet carry me across the street. I'm not sure where I am going but I'm no longer afraid of the unknown, and I trust my body, as I follow the steady stream of traffic. Small droplets of rain hit my face, probably smearing the make-up I carefully put on. People around me huddle for safety and run from the teardrops the Earth cries, but instead, I search for the opposite.

On the other side of the street, there is a bench that faces onto a park. Quickly I run through the intersections, and my body slides onto the bench. Cold filters through my jeans and seeps into my blood stream, but I lay my head back, close my eyes. And count the rain that falls on my face.

...87, 88, 89...

I don't know how long I sit there, but the rain soon dies down, and my soaking clothes cling to my body.

It's almost exciting sitting on a bench in the middle of someplace new. Knowing that whoever passes you knows nothing about you, and it's your duty to reinvent yourself. I can't help but smile at the thought of making a new.

"You'll get a cold sitting here soaking wet." A man's voice interrupts my thoughts. The sound could probably put me to sleep, it's smooth, and blissful; like a velvet blanket.

Without opening my eyes I whisper into the air, not knowing if he's still there. "If a cold is my only problem, then I think I'll be okay."

I hear him sit beside me, the zipper, most likely from his sweater scraping against the metal bench. "But a cold can turn into the flu, then the flu into a virus. And what if that virus is the virus that ends the human race?"

His velvet voice is a contrast to the depressing topic and I can't help but laugh. My eyes are still closed, head still back against the bench. "Someone's an optimist." I chuckle.

"Well, when you get your heart broken in Japan your optimism is usually shot, Violetta."

As soon as the words fell from his mouth and into the air between us I freeze. Slowly I opened my eyes, peering my head to the person who I spent months trying desperately to forget.

He looks the exact same. His chocolate curls that wrap around his chin, the chiseled jaw, forest green eyes. He was there in front of me, with a coffee in his hand and a look on his face that between hopeful and petrified.