I went back to London.

This place used to be called something else. Behind these doors laughter was laughed, rivers were deep and mountains were high, kisses were kissed, promises and hearts broken, stories and songs scribbled on paper and lived in the flesh. Love was loved even if names were either forgotten or changed to protect the guilty. Dances were danced, often in costumes that no man should wear. Memories forged and, even then, we knew they were the best of times despite us being completely lost.

Today, ghosts moved behind the windows.

It was like walking past your own grave.

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