Out there, in among the concrete jungle, the passing of tin boxes and the flashing of neon lights, there is someone who is doing just as you are doing; listening. Straining to hear whether there is another out there like them. Perhaps they sit in the park coated white with snow, and perhaps their breath comes out as mist, and they shiver against the cold. Or perhaps they lounge beneath the trees in the fall, when the leaves turn fiery colours and then fall to blanket the ground. Whatever the case, they are there, listening just as you do.
They listen for you. They want to find you, the way you want to find them. Among the lights of the city, and its dark shadows you will meet, and you will know immediately; they are the person you hear in moments of silence. The city is big, it's loud, it's tough, you could go with years without it, and then return and never have enough. It's too busy, too crazy. But you know, sitting there on the shore of the Hudson that together, you and the person sitting beside you could take it by storm, because you know it's secret; you have heard its heartbeat.