Dear London,
You raised me through cracks and crevices,
teaching me where light leaks through
and where it disappears.
When I strayed from the script,
you let me,
but I learned your game was rigged,
optimised,
unforgiving.
A sadistic game I no longer play.
The moment the shoe dropped,
I knew I had to leave,
to find beauty that answers me
something softer,
less cruel.
You, London, are what AI will become:
a system,
polished by efficiency.
I wander your streets, smiling in awe,
still captivated at times,
still caught in your charm.
But you
you’ll never love anyone back.
