London becomes quieter in the rain. The gentle trickles or hammering downpours swallow the sounds of traffic or tourists as the drains begin overflowing. The romantic lights adorning theatre marquees, neon traffic lights or garish shop fronts reflect in the pools below, illuminating the city from a new angle as the darkness looms. It’s consuming but never seems to fully consume me. I find solace in the droplets hitting my weathered cap. I remove my earphones and bundle them into my tote bag, instantly tangled like Christmas lights, giving myself up to the weather. I want it.
Dear Diary, I Hate My Body
If I had a dollar for every time I had thought of or written that phrase down in one of my diaries since I…