My room is starting to empty itself, a warm mouth turned inside out. Losing teeth as in an anxious dream.

First to go: two bodies of two boys. Cole and his friend Iain came to visit from Berlin for a few days, and suddenly, this little room was full of life (and sweaty clothes). We alternated sleeping positions, various combinations of two-in-the-bed and one-on-the-floor. The area between my bed and desk became choked with blankets, a tangled sea of soft things. The bathroom was flooded more often than not.

Despite the close quarters, it was a wonderful visit. I played tour guide for two days, taking them to Borough Market, over the Millennium Bridge, through Covent Garden (where we three got haircuts) and down Oxford Street (where both boys took advantage of the TopShop flagship store and left the building with completely new outfits). On Friday night, we went to Shunt, that wondrous performance art space/night club underneath London Bridge—I wanted to show them an alternative nightlife to the techno ragers they’ve become so accustomed to in Berlin. They were not impressed when the club closed at 3am and wondered which club we were going to next. I sheepishly informed them that next on the agenda was taking the night bus home.

It made me realize that my London—the London I want to share with friends—is not London at night. It is not the underside of dawn, stained and smelling of cigarettes. It is not the sick feeling of too much booze or catching buses on street corners covered in broken glass. My London is bright and bird-filled. The light on the Thames as boats bounce over the choppy waves, and Hyde Park when girls are spinning on the grass and friends are laughing over picnic baskets. Suited men standing outside the pub after a good day’s work. Uniformed school-children buying sweeties at the convenience store. Cake shops for tea, book shops for browsing, and food food food from all over the world! This, and more, I wanted to impress upon Cole and Iain. Not the shrouded, sinister London of midnight but the London that is offered to all in the welcoming light of day.

First, two bodies of two boys, removed from this room. And now, whole drawers of clothes must go, and all the souvenirs and pictures tacked to the walls. It’s the beginning of the end, when packing feels like the initial insult flung from a line of ill-wishers. I’m packing up a half-year of life and will be sorry to see it go.