From this year's 'Love Letters to London' writing competition, sponsored by Almacantar, Footwork and Stiff+Trevillion.

Full details of the winners and runners up are here.

You can buy our printed booklet of all of the winning and placed entries here (£6.50 for members, £7.50 non members. P+P included). Or you can get the PDF version to download here.

If you'd like information on the next 'Love Letters' competition, enter your details here, and we'll be in touch later in the year.

---

Kezia Atkinson

This is London

The rushing

click-clacking 

Of the train; 

an eager 

monster 

of 

mechanised 

metal 

Consumes my thoughts.

Strangers’ faces,

illuminated by 

glowing 

blue 

lights 

surround me.

Their eyes glued to 

Shiny screens; their only focus

I look around,

Bored,

From outside I see

the stations

pass

by,

Some glossy and modern,

others old

and 

brick.

They each have a story.

A small girl in a threadbare coat 

stands at St Pancras,

Waiting for her Mother.

She smells the same smells

as me,

Of hurried people and 

stale air.

Next and

next and

next,

the light of the phones turn to 

the

pale, 

frightened

faces 

of evacuees.

I hear the shouts of Suffragettes,

Green,

White,

Purple,

Freedom.

Football fans spill out,

the colours of their team 

waved

about madly,

crowds of red faces 

flood the station.

Everything 

goes 

so

quickly.

Past,

Future,

Present.

All unexplained worlds.

Now back,back,

I stare pitifully at those around me,

they

do not

know what they have

missed,

they do not know

London

like 

I

do.

Then,from beneath the 

swirling clouds of grey,

the sun shines,

glinting 

on the 

curling Thames,

lighting up the faces

of the strangers 

with a

new light.

They look up,

awakened.

They smile.

I grin back.

This, is London.