Sometimes.

Sometimes it occurs to me that it truly is the smallest things that make us happiest. 

The two young folk singers strumming cheerful melodies beneath the bridge.

And the sherbet pink strands embroidering the spring sky as the sun sets.

Running for the bus, and catching it. The feeling that your legs will carry you, if you ask nicely. And the congratulatory smile offered up by a woman, tousled hair and brown jacket, as I board.

The bus, empty, hurtling towards the swirling blue of night.

And how sometimes, just sometimes, London is so easy to love.