This is how I remember London…

This is how I remember London, brooding, and mysterious, and overcast, and quiet. A city where even the skies are too dignified to show too much emotion. Like those elegant, middle-aged women at tube stations, standing tall in a trench coat, boots and pearl earrings. Purse in one hand, umbrella in the other, and hair in a French bun. Head held high in thought albeit not rudely.
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This is how I remember London, with light snow fall during intellectual debates at dimly lit restaurants with wooden interiors. Playing cards in familiar sweaters at familiar spots with a pipe in one hand. Smiling smugly inside with the satisfaction of such warm company and hearty breakfasts. The beauty of the world’s biggest metropolis hidden in short, wall to wall houses and quaint lanes. Throbbing, white city lights embellished with church tops blending neatly into pink skies. A home that houses the appearance of cities, ranging from Honk Kong to Edinburgh.
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Indeed, there is so much without being too much that one is driven to creativity. Life seems to be lived with a background of classical music, which makes everything function with a combination of passion and restraint in this heaven of candles, chandelier and marble.