A segue of noticeable proportions

A blog post I wrote last year that slipped through the cracks, found now.

London is one of those cities that never sleeps, correct? I feel like it's true, and I also think I'm taking aboard alot of it's attributes. But the problem with moving to a large city is that you're alone. Not in the physical sense, this is probably the most people you'll ever be surrounded by at any given time but socially and emotionally you're alone. You're new, you know nobody and in true to form stereotyping nobody has time for those people.

I'm sleeping odd hours, my boredom and loneliness seeps into everything around me. I don't feel depressed, just alone and I do know how to tell one from the other. Everything is so different that intimidation is absent and replaced by a sense of wonder and marvel, fear rarely encroaching. Even now as I'm writing this, the city has it's own rules, the night isn't black but orange and it isn't silence but echoing of speeding automobiles. It is the city that never sleeps but who lays with the city or is it as alone as I?

The flat is an oddity, big but small and odd but common. Most first flats aren't meant to be amazing and this one surely isn't but it is hardly terrible. But it is empty, roommates yet to move in, a cat that grows more restless and irritated after coming from a country life. The worst part is expecting and waiting for darkness to move as if locking doors was an process designed to help the children sleep. I am no longer considered a child and nor feel like one but I now find it harder to sleep, whether its lack of space or the constant gushes of traffic or just a mattress yet to be worn in. Either way, sleep is rare in the night, usually a day affair not that the city is any safer during the day.

Those I expected to be around me to keep me company, aren't. Missing in foreign countries longer than they originally communicated, some busier with their new lives and some busier with work lives and worst of all, the methods of reaching out are more limited these first few weeks than originally considered. The only few strands of internet are costly, unpredictable, badly behaved and spent on the priorities. Relaxing does not enter my life because the means to do so are floating over the edge that I appear to be stuck on.

You would expect somebody to be less presumptuous in the position that I reside but it is naught. When you move to close a distance, you'd expect those closer together to actually get, well, closer. But the one you move closer towards then decides they want the void between to reappear, every way of not saying that they don't want you. Whether it is gift wrapped with the loneliness or the matters of the heart. I guess what you expect to be the beginning is just a stalled thought that what you want to start ever will. Maybe some things just stay as they are, forever.

If only the city slept.