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The one.

He was my kind of a person. Full of surprises and excitement. I fell in love with him at thirteen and never got over. He didn’t always treat me right. There were times I cursed him in my mind, regretting I followed him all the way here. I promised to leave him and I even managed to stay away for a while, but he was my first love and one never really gets over that. Those first quickened heartbeats. The thrill of the unknown. He was too irresistible.

I know, love at first sight, what a cliché, right? But I truly did know that he was the one for me the first time we met. Our affair has been toxic at times, suffocating even.Left me exhausted and bitter on too many occasions. And yet I could never quit him for good. Nobody ever came close. There was something about him that no one else had.

He made me gasp in awe whenever I would start to get bored with life. Challenged my views and opinions, helping me become the person I am today. One moment he would be exciting, dangerous, always on the go, only to suddenly show me his deep, peaceful side. He promised me the world and kept on tantalizing my senses, taking me on journeys across the globe.

Underneath his thirst for life, hunger for all things new and odd, was a posh little brat. Private-school-son-of-a-bitch who knew how much he mattered. And then he would give me one of those damn sunny smiles of his and I forgave him everything.

He accepts me the way I am. No pressure, no labels, no bullshit. Dancing salsa and bachata. Secret cinemas, art exhibitions, rooftop yogas and silent discos. We have it all. His name is London and no city could ever replace him.

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