There is a feeling.
An inexplicable feeling
as you stand at the edge of the terrace
of your inner city apartment
looking out at the extraordinary world around you,
at the people,
at the streets.

The air feels different here. Cleaner. Fresher,
as if there is more oxygen; unpolluted from the motor vehicles of London.

The air is warmer,
the sun burns brighter,
the streets are busier,
but the roads, less.
The sunset city is more picturesque than any I have ever seen.

There is so much that reminds me of London.
The crowds waiting at tourist attractions. The hustle and bustle of the day to day travelers,
through the stations on the metro.
I had never understood why people were fascinated with things that were just ‘my city,’
but I understand it now.

It’s not about the buildings.
It’s not about the attractions.
It’s the adventure,
The freedom.
The burst of excitement
of being somewhere other than where you have always been.

There’s a magic in Barcelona.

You feel it as you look upon the sandy beaches and the Mediterranean sea,
with the holiday makers swimming in clear water,
or building sandcastles up to their eyes,
or burying each other in the sand,
as they used to when they were kids.

Something about the city transforms you.
You are not the same person when you leave.

There’s a desperation.
Not in the city, but in your soul.
The moment you leave,
the desperation takes control,
and so you’re drawn back to the city
time and time again.