Floe

Upon arrival, I love London.

The first couple of hours, everything is calling my name, the buzz and rasp of the streets, bicycles defying the traffic, buildings of bricks, each arrogantly telling a different story. I see London as a specific piece of music, the visual representation of a soundtrack, everyone moving as if following a tight and fast paced choreography. London moves over the notes of Floe from Philip Glass's Glassworks compositions. 

Floe, like flow. The first hours in London, everything flows. Everything fits. Like a huge puzzle of mismatched pieces which unexpectedly find their right place creating an abstract harmony of shapes, lines and sounds. 

Philip Glass reminds me of Virginia Woolf, because he composed the score for the movie The Hours. Upon arrival in London, out of King's Cross, there is Bloomsbury and Virginia seems to have never truly left. She is still here. Mrs Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself. 

Upon arrival, London is Virginia's, Clarissa's, Septimus's. They're all here and I feel their thoughts gliding through the streets, the buzz and the rasp incessantly. Upon arrival, I am in her novel. 

Her novel, however never does not last more than a day. And so does my love for London.