SophieCostello's profile

I’m a romantic fool, really. A dreamer. Thus I feel inclined, not to tell you that much about the present me, where I am and what I do, because truth be told, it hardly does my person any justice, but instead to tell you about where I want to go and what I want to do. To be honest with you, my dreams say more of me as a person than my reality ever will.

As I see it, there is not anywhere else in the world I belong as much as I belong in London. I left my heart there the first time I ever went and if it were up to me and not up to economics and such, I would most likely already live there. I would have a small flat in the East End of town (Wapping, if I could choose myself) all down-worn and dirty. I would have no furniture whatsoeve…

I’m a romantic fool, really. A dreamer. Thus I feel inclined, not to tell you that much about the present me, where I am and what I do, because truth be told, it hardly does my person any justice, but instead to tell you about where I want to go and what I want to do. To be honest with you, my dreams say more of me as a person than my reality ever will.

As I see it, there is not anywhere else in the world I belong as much as I belong in London. I left my heart there the first time I ever went and if it were up to me and not up to economics and such, I would most likely already live there. I would have a small flat in the East End of town (Wapping, if I could choose myself) all down-worn and dirty. I would have no furniture whatsoever, if we were to look aside from the mattress to sleep on and the lamp next to it for me to write by in case I some day did not feel like writing on my computer (and those days occur, I assure you). I would have bare, poor looking brick walls on the insides similar to the structure on the outside, and on those walls nothing would hang – nothing except the texts I would provide to slowly cover and decorate it. Yes, in that flat I would live my life. Some parts of it, at least. The rest of it, I would spend walking around in London, observing and interpreting, writing by the Thames if the weather was for it and otherwise in a café with the rain drops sliding down the windows, slurring the outside world or in the halls of Tate Modern, surrounded by people as intrigued by the arts and the creative minds behind it as I am. Yes, I would spend the rest of my life living my dream, chasing my inspiration, embracing it when it comes and hating it (and life itself) the times it slips away. And still, I would love life more than anything, even in the times of writer’s block. For I would know that once my time was up, ”the coroner will find ink in my veins and blood on my typewriter keys”, as C. Astrid Weber so beautifully puts it. And that would make all the difference in the world to me.