Notes | Poetry

A warm summer night at Camden Town

April 4, 2016

We have a book. The chapters of which are waiting to be filled.

Happy, sad, funny, interesting… Regardless. What matters is that we have started this journey together with only the most heartfelt hope and resolve for our story to last.



I remember our first meeting. Peering through the window at the fourth floor where my apartment was, I made out a rough figure of a man wearing a casual white cotton shirt. My heart raced in anticipation. I made him wait outside for a while.

He must have stood there for half an hour. But he stayed.

We went on to have dinner at Camden Town. It was a lovely summer evening. He had fish to my pork ribs. Among the many differences we have.

We found ourselves counting the small groups of women with one wearing a sash and a little veil walking about. By the end of the evening we would have seen about three separate bachelorette parties happen just in the various streets around Camden where we roamed.

Months later I would never have thought that I would be working towards a life with him.

It was on a parking lot in a residential area where he took my hand. Before us were warmly lit houses with Land Rovers, Ferraris, and an assortment of vintage cars parked outside. Were we talking about cars or the architecture of that one building we saw? I can’t really remember. I just know that I was surprised by the warmth of his hands against mine.

I swear I must have been lit brighter and more warmly than any of those houses at that instance. He must have seen it too.


I did think, let’s go about this slowly
Mary Oliver

I did think, let’s go about this slowly.
This is important. This should take
some really deep thought. We should take
small thoughtful steps.

But, bless us, we didn’t.

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