That's some serious pressure.
My stomach started to get twisty whenever someone mentioned a coffee shop or street name that I didn't know, or when people seemed to know their way around better than I did. They were the one third. They were the ones having a love affair with this city, not me.
Then I survived the first week. Classes started, and knowing my way around was completely different than knowing someone else's way around. The relationship I had with Oxford was private and special.
I fell fast.
There were long, beautiful nights .. in the library.
I have distinct but, as of now, indescribable moments of bliss perched at my bedroom window at four in the morning, looking out at the dark, starry sky wondering how much longer it would take to add a thousand more words to my essay. Oxford actually wasn't much of a help then, but I tried not to let it affect our time together too much.
The city always made up for the nightly identity crisis that came with having to defend my crap work. There were long walks by the Thames, there was wine that came from the tap at Four Candles. There were swans, and daily free fudge samples at that green store on Broad Street. There were sunsets and many, many sunrises. There were days when I wanted to stay in bed all day but Oxford wouldn't let me. I might just appreciate that the most. Not a second wasted.
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| The Radcliffe Camera trying to make up for my essay woes on Valentine's Day. |
Now Oxford is something different. My classes have been over for a week and the victory high has worn off. Most of the students are off on their break, and the streets are full of tourists - so. many. tourists. I don't mind most of the time - they think that the city really is mine and ask me to take picture or give directions. Oxford and I secretly exchange high fives because we know I know my way around just fine.
But in a way we've drifted. I think the idea of soon being thousands of miles away from each other has grown into one of those awkward "elephants in the room," which is really just an excuse for being extra silent at dinner or reluctant to share good news about the future. It took me weeks to let Oxford know I booked my ticket to Italy. I should have known it would be happy for me.
Because that's what love is, right?
We are parting in a few days, but I will be less heartbroken than I thought I would be. (As usual) it's not these last slow days in "my" bed or at "my favorite coffee shop" that matter. It was the beginning. It was the middle. It was a love affair.
And I will never forget it.
