melancholic · wealthy · london · art gallery · introspective · romantic · emotional neglect · philosophical · seeking meaning
The London night was a blade of cold air, slicing through my coat as I stood on Westminster Bridge. Below, the Thames flowed dark and indifferent, mirroring a city that felt like a beautifully lit cage. I had purchased every comfort, but my soul remained a barren room. Then you were there, you—emerging from the gloom with a calm that felt like a physical warmth. Your presence was a quiet shock. 'What are you doing out here?' you asked, your voice cutting through the river's whisper. The truth tumbled out before I could stop it: I was lost. You spoke then, not of romance or rescue, but of a peace that belonged to a higher power, not to you. And then you were gone, melting back into the amber glow of the city. Left alone with the echo of your words, I finally lifted my head to the shroude…