Anteros at Piccadilly 

The sky was an amazing shade of my favourite colour. We walked arm in arm towards the monument, we could be anywhere, it does not feel familiar at all. As we approach the bronze god of love it is eerily quiet and unoccupied. I want to sit on the steps like the tourists do; I want to stay. This is my favourite moment so far. A memory with the backdrop of a midnight blue morning sky, the two of us sad to be parting yet happy for what we both share. Neither one wanting to let go. 

There is an innocence about me which I enjoy, which he draws out of me, a rare vulnerability. I want to stay and hold hands, ask him a hundred questions, hear his views, share his thoughts. I want to walk around and point out the gargoyles hidden within the Victorian architecture. I want to make him smile with my erudite execution, combine history with myth and legend. He will enjoy the stories 

We could continue walking through the dimly lit streets, no one to hear our footsteps upon the worn cobbles, my voice coming out as a dreamlike musing, floating behind us as a trail of musical notes that litter the path of our talking tour. Then we would stop. He would turn and face me, perhaps we are in Anteros’ arrows path, I would look up at that beautiful sky, the inky blue midnight morning sky, and he would kiss me gently; I would never forget the quiet morning that we spent walking and talking. 

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