A/n: Title is from Simon and Garfunkle's 59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin' Groovy)
He hates that city.
Hates it with all the the same intensity as it's burning neon lights and never-stopping stream of life. With the same passion as the singer that grace it's stages. With the same heat as the burning flame of hope that light in the star-struck eyes of the young.
He's only ever been to the city twice- once for a birthday trip his brother took him, and once for….
He hates that city.
Hate it because it shines with the same brightness and energy that he used to see in the eyes that looked at him. It shares the strong, bold strokes of it's spine with the one he used to trace with his hands, fingers, mouth….
There had been a time, before earth-shattering heart-destroying hollowness, when he had dreamed of moving to that city. Of following his heart wherever he went.
Dreamed of coffees at a small cafe and plays on the Great White Way and good morning kisses in the same bed. Of small silvery bands on fingers and forevers and watching the sunrise over the tall buildings. Sneaking into dorm rooms and balancing schedules. Forevers.
He remembers sending his heart on ahead of him, holding back tears as he did so. Maybe if he'd known… if he could have possibly guessed… would he have held tighter? Kissed harder? Begged?
He doesn't know.
He remembers senior year, being called down to the office, and then nothing after that.
It's like leaving Oz- all color and vitality suddenly drained away in an instant and leaving him with an aching hole in his chest instead of a bump on the head.
He goes to California, gets as far away as he can. Sings until his voice is raw and aching and then doesn't for years. Works and works and graduates top of his class. Get a job behind a desk.
He never really recovers from losing his heart. He dates, here and there, but never finds someone who has the same comfortable grooves in them for him to rest in as his heart had.
He cries when his godson gets married. And again when his neice, and then nephew do several years later.
He drifts, travels for a while, but never finds what he's searching for. He knows it can't be found, not here, so he pushes away the ache.
He writes journals to his missing heart- things he's seen and done that they'd always planned to do together someday.
My dearest K, he always starts.
Over the years his handwriting gets shakier and less legible, but he doesn't want to type it out. It feels like cheating.
When he can no longer write in the journals, he goes to the city.
He buys flowers, colorful and sweet, and makes his slow way to a small gated off space. He puts the flowers down next to the stone and stands there for a long time, talking quietly.
Then he leaves.
He never goes back to that city. He still hates it.
But it's where his heart will always be.