It’s Valentine’s Day. I just spent a lovely evening with a few friends, having wine and cheese and chocolate. We had plans to go out, but they fell through in the end. The party’s over. Which is fine. But I have on this gorgeous green dress with slits up the legs and my tallest stilettos, and I sure as hell didn’t put on this outfit to call it an early evening. Instead of heading down to the tube and retreating home, I’m sitting at The Booking Office bar in the St Pancras hotel, having a nightcap.

It’s a little odd, being alone in a bar, very dressed up, particularly on Valentine’s Day. But being alone doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable. Being idle does, which is why I’m writing about this in the notes section of my phone. There is live music; a singer and a guitarist, playing some jazzy versions of pop hits. I’ve ordered a martini. It’s gin, with hints of lemon and lavender. The waiter presented me an empty glass with a twirl of lemon, then poured the liquid from a corked bottle. As a final flourish, he sprayed a lavender mist onto the surface.

I didn’t need to come to a bar at 11pm and spend £14 on a stiff drink. But if I’m my own valentine, I guess that entitles me to treat myself to something a bit fancy. Also, it’s setting in that I leave London in one week. And I won’t be able to wander through St Pancras station when I’m looking to kill an hour and see some beautiful architecture. It’s just two months until I come back to the UK. But I’m starting to realize the next time I leave, it’ll likely be for much longer.

“The world is your oyster”. That’s a good phrase to describe where I’m currently at. It’s normally a positive phrase, implying there is anywhere you can go and anything you can do with your life. But it also can mean, and currently means for me, I have nowhere that is pulling me, nothing to focus on. I’m in the unfortunate situation in which, the place where I’ve established a career and a life for myself, is not available to me as a home. I mean, it is, but I can’t legally work, there’s no visa I can get, lots of formalities and what not, basically meaning no London for Paige. Not long term, anyway.

If I think about it too hard, it makes me more melancholy than I can bear. This city gives me energy, it breathes life into my mind. I find myself smiling while walking down the street, like a character in a sappy film strolling into the end credits. I don’t know if I’ll find another place that will make me feel so elated, and I’ll be doomed to exist in a mere state of contentment wherever I next settle down. I’m probably just being melodramatic. I am alone in a bar on Valentine’s Day after all, it comes with the territory.

When I was younger, I would set goals for myself. Nothing too complicated, just a silly promise that by next Valentine’s Day, there would be someone special in my life. And February 14 came and went, year after year. I seem to greatly enjoy the anticipation for something, even after being faced with disappointment again and again. This is a trait that has plagued me often. At the slightest glimmer of attention or affection, I let the anticipation consume me. I’m not sure what I hope for. It’s not always a relationship, or love, but simply human connection, kindness, intimacy. So in the frequent occurrence that said person loses interest, ghosts me, finds someone more interesting, or just turns out to be a dick bag, it hits a lot heavier than it might for someone who keeps their guard up. But it never deters me, I go back with the same amount of hope every time. I think by now I just know that I can handle the heartache.

I am fortunate to have so many people in my life who love and support me. As the years of singlehood grow in number, so does the number of amazing humans I am lucky to call friends. London has blessed me with so many, and honestly that’s the real reason I can’t walk through this city without smiling. These streets and buildings mean more to me than just their architecture. They remind me of people I’ve walked bridges with, toasted outside of bars with, sat in parks with and stumbled into the tube with. The memories burst from every corner, like a scrapbook I can stand in the middle of.

It’s harder to face rejection from a place than from a person. Because the only one leaving is you. The place will move on, and the people in it will continue their lives, unfazed by your absence. You pack your bags and buy the plane ticket willingly, but you still press your face to the window as you rise into the sky, trying to catch one more glimpse before it disappears into the clouds.

I’ve finished my drink. People still linger at tables around me, but it’s quieted down. I should probably head out soon, so I don’t miss the last train.

I’m setting a goal for myself. For next Valentine’s Day, a year from today. I want to be somewhere that I love. Even if I don’t love it as much as London, I want to find something to love about wherever I find myself, and whoever I’m there with.

And if I find myself alone in another bar, spending too much money on a drink, at least I’ll know that wherever I am is too magical to call it an early night, even when the party’s over.