I had nearly forgotten about my museum hopping day in the city, nearly forgotten next to the late birthday celebrations of that night. Three museums and much exploration that day: the Museum of London, the British Museum, and the Victoria and Albert Museum, as well as some old ruins and a few markets. A typical day in the city is usually not so typical. There's something about the city which gives it that whimsical, dare I say it for fear of being cliché, magical aura.
The city is in shroud, but not in the cloudy sense which I rarely experienced. Cloudy?? Foggy?? London?? Psssh.
Walking around felt so surreal, little thoughts popping into my head, thinking of ridiculous stories of those I passed on the streets...this was home, I was home, and I had only been there for a few weeks. The city had sucked me in, taken me under its wing, and made me its own.
Yet, I always had that feeling at the back of my mind...nearly every entry ending with, or a brief mention, a whisper in the hallway of the cluster of events happening in my life, of Kurt: "I miss Kurt. I really do. And that scares me." "English guys....are so not Kurt."
Perhaps despite my attempts at thinking I was okay, tucked away in my magical getaway, I couldn't truly be home unless he was there. It was at this point I began to understand that home may not be a place. I thought I had finally found it in London, and maybe I had, but it could not be so without my other half.
We're all victims to our minds, ensnared within our thoughts, unable to escape but for the vices..."I feel like my trips are me scoping out places for Kurt & I to visit...dammit, I miss him wholeheartedly." Looking back through these posts, I've come to realize my terrible tendencies to lock myself away, unafraid to go on adventures, but fearful of letting myself be vulnerable in that raw sense.
Off to Scotland this weekend....mix of Mill, feelings, nostalgia, past&present.
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