i don’t think i’ve ever been
more in love with a city
than i was with you.
it’s inexplicable.
the more i see
this spirit of community,
of togetherness
where i live now,
the more i miss my real home.
it might be another country,
but you took me in,
held me like your own.
one hundred
and sixty thousand people,
yet it was always one:
the date whose flatmate
played in my favourite band,
the pub where a singer walked in
and we had to act cool,
even with fifty strangers, once,
crammed into a living room.
you were secret codes
and piano bars,
ropes above the thames,
carnivals and day festivals.
meeting someone,
and keeping them forever.
it was never just work.
it was passageways, and talent
rising like ivy through stone,
having the world
at my fingertips
as though sitting on a throne
without having a clue.
but i still did
what i thought i should,
and found myself alive
in the whole of you.
this is a love letter to oxford.
august 31, 2025
