It’s the end of August and I’m in London again. It’s been three years since I was here last and it’s pouring down rain. I jump over a small river onto the curb with my luggage, then I stop to film it for my instagram story. You message me immediately. Hahaha welcome. Or something like that.

I’m in Clapton. I used to love Clapton. I used to take the bus here to get iced vanilla lattes. It’s where I discovered you could add vanilla to a latte and that coffee tastes better cold. I went to a fancy Japanese restaurant here one time with Emma for my 20th birthday. It was off some side street. I wonder if it still exists. I remember the pickled carrots. I used to walk up the road here sometimes from Hackney Central to go to that bookshop. It’s still there.

I remember sitting in a bar near here probably a few weeks after that Japanese restaurant. I was reading the book you gave me for my birthday, Wind/Pinball. It’s one of the only gifts you ever gave me. I still have it. You wrote in the front page, “Whatever it is you’re seeking won’t come in the form you’re expecting.” The thing I’m seeking never came at all.

There’s a rail strike so I walk everywhere. I walk 30,000 steps one day. I go everywhere I remember. I walk past Hackney Central and KFC is still there, Iceland, Pizza Hut, M&S, Paper Dress Vintage somehow. Oslo is still there. I see the same people on the street somehow. I go to the Old Ship and Jerry is still there with a pint of Heineken. When I worked there he only ever got halves. I walk down Wilton Way and all those stupid expensive shops are still there. Pidgin is still there. I stop in The Spurstowe Arms. Everyone looks really beautiful. I look beautiful too. I text you. Apparently you used to come here all the time. Our parallel Hackney lives off by a few years.

I go to The Cock Tavern. I’ve been before, but not that much though I used to live around the corner. Why didn’t I ever come here? There’s someone playing the hits on the piano and people doing karaoke without a mic. Kind of iconic. I record it on my phone to show you later. Why didn’t I ever come here?

It’s my last night before I’m supposed to go see you. My train leaves at 11 am. I’m drunk at midnight dreading it. I haven’t packed anything. I text you I’m not going to come. That I’m having second thoughts. That I’m having a bad time and didn’t want our time together to be bad too. You text me back asking for my train information.

I wake up at 5 am in tears. I pack my things. I have some tea. I wait for something to open. I considered texting some friends to see if I can crash at theirs for the night. I walk to the off license and buy milk, a banana, and some chocolate. I sit in the garden, crying. You text me again. I listen to ‘I’m on Your Team’ over and over.

I almost missed the train even though I woke up at five am. I don’t text you back until I’m on it. I cried the whole ride down. I changed my clothes right before your stop, so I was the last one off. As you saw everyone walk by, you thought I had bailed after all. To this day I wish I had.