87.

Nothing about this city fits

A disparate noise of clashing ideas and ideals

Colours merging into one swirling distorted rainbow

Dreams and despair existing in each others space,

A feeling that can’t be articulated or caught to be tried.

It’s nothing all at once as been everything it could ever be,

Spoilt for choice in flavours and scents and sounds of who we all are.

Below the dull skies there is always its light and it exists in even its darkest corners.

Where we feel forgotten, it will drag us into its centre

And make us more than we ever felt we could deserve.

Its history lifts us up and pushes us ever forward, separating us from the rest as a place ahead of its time by never being part of a time.

It exists as it is, where it is and how it is.

And we are custodians of its belittled and disregarded stones.

We are the guardians of this centre piece of an island jigsaw, a vital piece at the heart of Britain’s anatomy.

And we don’t fit anywhere, except here.

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