When I lived in London and my jet lag was all over the place, I would find myself awake at the oddest hours. Somewhere between dusk and dawn where the destination has yet to be decided and I would walk.
I lived near here at one point and I would bundle myself up against the bitterness of morning dew and walk, music floating through the airwaves. I would watch as London woke up. Me, my coffee and the birds. Sometimes the rain would come, sometimes not. But it never spoiled it.
There was something so incredibly magically about those mornings. Something I am so incredibly thankful for.
(Source: livethehate, via s-t-a-c-k-s)
