Her.
I looked down at my hands—lined with more wrinkles of time and use than I had remembered.  The place where a quaint, simple, gold wedding band could be, still remained a lonely finger, waiting.  My fingernails were only slightly shredded today, bitten and torn from the seemingly ruthless habits of my teeth.  The veins protruding from my casually rolled up sleeves poking down to my wrists, then spreading out into my hands were plump and easily visible from the haphazard workout I had completed this morning.  I hadn’t bothered to iron my button up today, and I also looked down to realize that I didn’t even notice that the loose tails of my shirt were hanging, lonely.  My hand habitually nudged my glasses more firmly onto the strong bridge of my angled nose while I raised my eyes once more and let my gaze wander around the office, my coworkers hard at work—well, working as hard as people can be when they’ve got Facebook and YouTube open in different tabs. 
I let my gaze linger on Lily.  Like beautiful bunches of flowers, her cascading, naturally ginger, light, wavy hair fell upon her shoulders—the perfect frame for her innately handsome features.  Her strong, yet feminine nose was the perfect divider between her crystal, creamy, sapphire eyes, that, when caught in the right light, could stop any one in their tracks.  Her innate beauty and charm was a delight, and brightened the atmosphere wherever she went.
And, of course, she’s taken by some man who dresses in Birkenstocks, rolled up jeans, and obscure band t-shirts.  Obviously they’re perfect for each other, and even more obviously I’m left here, as usual, to wallow in my own self-pity.  It’s not that I necessarily want Lily, I just want…someone.  Someone to be loyal to, to stay committed to, to cherish, to hold, to love.  I find that I continuously compare myself to my desk partner to inflate what pitiful self-image I have left.  Marcus is even worse with the opposite sex than I am.  Whenever he even gets a whiff of some wide-set hips combined with a thought of a smile in his direction, it’s so incredibly easy to see his face, seemingly perpetually-perspiring, get a new glaze of excitement dripping down his cheek, overly flattered with the thought of a woman actually acknowledging his existence.
Me?  Some would say I’ve given up.  I haven’t had a girlfriend since high school, but man, she was a keeper.  She never once gave me a reason to be mad at her, and yet I somehow dug up every reason I could to degrade her, make her feel like she was nothing compared to me.  All she did in response to my immature behavior was love me.  She was everything.  Now, here I am, approaching the big 3-0, and what have I got to show for it?  A long lost love and a slowly slipping self-image?  Yeah, sounds about right.
I realize I’ve been absent mindedly staring out into space for the past ten minutes, and quickly shake my head back into focus, trying to gather up loose strands of motivation to help me finish the article that I’ve been working on.  I habitually repositioned my thinly rimmed glasses, and prepared my fingers for the methodical strikes of the keyboard when I looked at the clock on the bottom right of my computer screen and remembered I have a dentist appointment today.  I quickly gathered up my coffee mug, leather overcoat, and book bag, said a quick, awkward good bye to the office, to which no one responded, and began my way out to the car.
The dentist appointment was unequivocally average.  I mean what can you expect when you have a random person poking and prodding around in your mouth, asking you questions about your long-dead pets?  Learning to speak with a minimum of two dental instruments in your mouth should be an Olympic sport, I’m convinced of it.
Walking out of the dentist’s office, I looked down at my watch, the reflective lens staring blankly back at me.  Four o’clock on the dot.  The thought of trying to fight the afternoon traffic for maybe another five minutes of unproductive work on that article made me feel as though I was starting to wilt.  I decided that my time would be more well-spent if I went downtown.  I pulled into my regular parking spot, and with a sigh of unsatisfied relief I flicked off the ignition, sluggishly dragged my book bag towards me, plopped my keys in their usual side pocket, and stepped out of my car.
No matter what mood I’m in, when I’m on my way to the City, she always cheers me up.  Her beautiful noise, constantly whirring of people’s voices, the rumble and hum of both the gas guzzlers and the hybrids, doors opening, closing, shoes pattering about the cobblestone and brick of the streets, making their way towards fate.
I didn’t always used to love the City as I do now.  I recently have been visiting her more frequently, there’s just something about her that keeps me coming back, always wanting more.  Her edges, sharp and strong, my eye traces the curves of her buildings and scenery, from the highest edge of a skyscraper to the lowest neon “Open” company sign.  I’ve never felt so at home with anyone like I’ve felt with the City.
I start walking, left, right, left, right.
I watched as my worn converse sink into the puddles and grim cobblestone, each step I tried to caress the ground with my feet, expressing and transmitting my love to her.  I lazily gazed around, adoration pouring from my eyes, to all of the little corner coffee shops, all of the little boutiques, all of the lamp posts dressed in baskets of flowers.   I am here, in this moment, looking at her.  And she is infinite.
?
I increased the rapidity of my steps, clasping down the strands of annoyance that continually were flying away from my wavy, long hair, hearing the clicks of my heeled, leather boots hit the ground with forceful purpose.  With my stack of papers and MacBook Air cradled against my chest, my bag slung around the other arm, left hand holding my All City coffee, my phone held against my ear precariously by my shoulder, talking with my business associate.  As usual, I am running slightly late for my meeting, but I knew that I made up for my perpetual tardiness with my hard work ethic.  I was on autopilot, when I saw a man.  Obviously this wasn’t out of the ordinary, I was in the central district of Downtown, the constant hum of people with their To-Do lists and tightly wound agendas never ceased to permeate the atmosphere here.  But this man, he was different. 
His blonde hair was lightly tousled and the wrinkles on his button up didn’t look disjointed or out of place.  More or less, his physical appearance wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, especially in the city.  What caught my eye was the way that he was carrying himself.  He had the spring and bounce of a curious five year old who is exploring and going on a new adventure, but in addition to this eccentricity, he had this aura about his eyes that, once noticed, was mesmerizing.  I noticed him first across the street from where I was hurriedly scrambling to get to my meeting, but like a magnetic force between us I found myself slowly decreasing the intensity of my steps, wanting to talk to him for some unknown but very sure reason deep in my torso.
Almost unconsciously, I found I was redirecting myself so as to follow him for a couple of blocks.  I kept my distance at a steady twenty feet behind him, watching him make his way around the winding roads.  I noticed how he caressed the buildings, lamp posts, mail boxes, anything he could get his hands on that was in some way connected to downtown, his pointer and middle fingers running along each feature of the industrialization with some sort of affection.  That was the best word I could find to describe it, and it wasn’t like someone who would say, “Oh yeah, I absolutely love the city.” For some reason, I felt like if I were to go up to him and ask him what he thought about downtown that he would give me some sort of soul-searching stare that made me question every life-altering decision I’ve ever made and concisely profess his undying love for the City.
I was startled at the rabbit hole train of thoughts I found myself travelling down, and with a furrowed brow and a quick shake of my head, I decided to stop all of this wondering and actually get some answers to my queries about this odd human being.  So, with a combination of innate and feigned confidence in my step, I sped up so as to match the clicks of my boots to the soft pads of his well-used converse.  I could tell that he sensed my slightly intrusive presence, but I don’t think he minded.  He simply continued walking down the City blocks, adoration pouring from his eyes.  Up.  Down.  Across.  Ahead.  Around.
“Hello?...Sir?”
“Oh, hello.”  His grin both filled me with a warmth I had never felt, as well as put me on edge.
“I-I just saw you from across the street, and noticed you seem quite happy,” the spring that came back into my step brought with it confidence as well.  “I just wondered what your trick was, for staying so happy I mean.”
“I’m with Her.”
“Her?”
“She’s so beautiful isn’t she?”  His crystal eyes gazed into mine for the first time.  I felt my soul start to push up through my esophagus.
“Who are you talking about?  I haven’t seen you with anyone…” my sentence trailed off into the concrete sidewalk.
“I’m with Her now, and so are you.  She is all around us.  Her energy, Her poise, it never ceases to raise my being to higher places.”
Pause.  I looked down to avoid cracks.
“I mean just look, so many stories, so many memories, all surrounded around Her.  She is the perfect love story.  When I walk with Her, I can feel the ashes of my dusty soul being brought back to life.”  Instead of grazing a few absent minded fingers on the walls of the buildings, he started to slow down and placed both of his hands lovingly, adoringly, gently on the brick walls.  He stood there, the slight smile that had been adorning his face widened into an ecstatic smirk.
He looked at me again.  “I’ve seen you before, too.  You’re different.  You understand.”
Something about that statement brought me out from under this weight of water that I had felt increasing in the atmosphere.  My eyes fluttered across his face, searching for any sign of sanity or consistency.  What peered back at me was unfiltered love.  I felt my heart strings start to sing.
“I’m not sure you have the right person, but thank you.  How long have you had these feelin-”
He wasn’t listening to me anymore, and for some universal reason, I felt total peace about it.  He was with his Love, and he believed She was so beautiful.  He was in rhythm with the City and Her wondrous beats, hums, and buzzes.  His eyes flickered with an electric pulse, whilst his feet bounced to the beat of the cars.  I realized that my time with him was over, and I felt it was almost my duty to relinquish him back over to Her.  The clicks of my boots slowed to a halt, as I approached a lamp post, where I found my shoulder leaning comfortably, watching this wondrous, curious man.
He continued walking onto the white, striped lines of the street, stopping in the middle.  I felt the rush of emotion cascading from his hands, which were slowly raising upward, outstretched, calling.  The light smile that graced his face gradually faded into a more serious, solemn expression of deep passion and sincerity.  His striking eyes were masked by his closed eyelids, his face being washed by the baptismal rays of the surrounding street lamps.  I stood there, overtaken by Their presence.  They were together.  They were infinite.
Then, this time, the Grim Reaper came in the form of a large, metal, gray bus.  Purposeful, indifferent, forceful.  His spirit was pierced.  A disjointed body flailed across the intersection, landing in a heap of unconscious lifelessness.  A small halo of blood formed around his figure, marking the place where They came to an end.  I felt a waterfall of tragedy wash over my being, seeing him there, and yet knowing that he would only amount to be an evening news headline.  No one would understand the passion in those wild eyes, the gentle affection that dripped from his fingertips, or the ferocity with which he loved only Her.
The sirens followed shortly.  Red, white, blue.
I watched as black huddled around his body, watched as they gathered him up, watched as he was placed into a fluid coffin, watched as the black was zipped up, watched as he was transformed from a damaged angel into an empty grave.
I gazed on, eyes unwaveringly looking as the red truck whisked him away, whilst the black continued to make note of who saw what, what was said when, who was where and why.  My eyes flicked back to where the outline of blood from his delicate body still remained, then up to the buildings and fixtures surrounding me.  I closed my eyes for a split second, listening.
Her groans echoed throughout the streets, mourning the true loss of Her only love, Her only companion, Her only equal.