It’s 2 AM again and my sleep schedule’s gone all wonky. Rather aptly, the 90s movie Hook is playing in the background. I say rather aptly because I’m missing the Peter in Kensington Gardens, the gnarled and knotted trees in Hyde Park, and a certain languid afternoon spent there several days before I left London.
I am such a people-oriented person.
I just find it funny, a bit, how content I was to leave London before that week. And then I met S., and made this incredibly awesome, personal connection…and for that week, the city was amazing. Even more so than for the prior three and a half months combined. Isn’t that just a little bit funny?
So I’m missing London, the park, the river, because all my memories with that person are in that city, Which is nice, if I’m feeling nostalgic warm and fuzzies (I am, at the moment). Tonight some of us were hanging out on the porch of the Wobbly Box (as a certain mechanic has named his trailer) and the good ole boys were all giving me hell about S.; my best friend told the rest of them just because he knew they’d give me a hard time, the little shit. There was much mention of snipe hunting and shine and muddin’, the latter of which sounds by far the most appealing. I think they’ve made it their mission to fulfill every single stereotype S may have about the South when he does get to visit.
There are so many other things I want to say, but I’m having a hard time putting my finger on how exactly I want to say them. It probably has something to do with the fact that it’s 2 AM.