For as long as I can remember, I have always dreamed of living in a foreign city - foreign to me, and not necessarily of a different language. First I have dreamed of 'making it' in New York City, on the little island called Manhattan that never slept. Then it was the dream of living in Paris, eating macarons, drinking lattes, and writing by a little window whose view showed off the Eiffel Tower. After visiting Amsterdam I dreamed of living in a narrow little first-floor flat, minimal in design, with floor-to-ceiling windows that opened completely onto a canal, with little brick streets and a bicycle parked at my door.
Now it's London that's calling me.
I have always been a bit of a dreamer, these dreams were always generally out of reach, unattainable, and yet J seemingly makes all my dreams come true - is it any wonder that I'm in love with him? J is also a dreamer, but he knows how to make them happen, some how, and it is thanks to him that we are moving to London within the year.
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