the lights of this city

Stay strong, London.

Sleep does not come easily on a night like this.

What else is an insomniac to do than stare out of the window and listen to humming of the ventilation.

The view from the apartment opens to the river. In the dark of these early hours, the water is restless, infused with the orange light from the South bank buildings. A bit further to the west, the spires of the city sparkle in gold and red.

And blue. Where moments ago people laughed about the game or a lighthearted joke, the light is now a stacatto blue. Ambulance blue and police car blue; their strobe-like pulse echoes in the empty street.

The phone rings at 23:40. A worried voice checks that I am still alive. How fortunate am I? How fortunate am I to have walked the same streets, laughed the same laughs, enjoyed the late evening warmth and companionship and have made it home.

Somewhere a phone rings without an answer.