Personal Narrative: My Most Beautiful Place In London

I remember the day I met him, that is because what I felt that day is a feeling I had never once experienced before. It was as if flowers started blooming in the darkest and deepest parts of me. I was sitting in a small bakery I had discovered the day of my arrival in London. It was only fair to describe it as one of the most beautiful places in the world, but my not so long visit in London's rain and gloominess could only make me immediately ignore every positive thing I'd ever heard about wonderful London. I sat among silent whispers of coffee addicts and tea maniacs when a strangers voice asked if it would be okay to take the seat opposite of mine. I hadn't given myself the opportunity to take a look up at whomever had asked given the reason I was to heavily engrossed in my

It was like we were in wonderland where we could make hours feel like only minutes of sheer and joy. We discussed his love for that last piece of candy at the bottom of the bag, who's the better superhero and my slight obsession with friends and not being able to go more than a day without watching it. I explained how I had repeatedly finished the series all too many times (probably more than I could count on my fingers) and eagerly described the night I first watched the last episode of "friends", lying on my apartment floor bawling my eyes out over fictional characters I had grown a bit too attached too (probably to the point where you should be worried). I could feel myself melting inside. Every time I glanced at him he was smiling just as big as I was. This was the first time in a long time somebody actually wanted to hear what I had to say; and more importantly, he was listening as well. We had shared a lot of thoughts and gotten to know each other but had forgot to mention the most basic of information, out