Non Existent Heartbeat

The snow has just begun to fall this evening, and I’m feeling just a little melancholy. I don’t consistently feel sorry for myself, but tonight, I just feel lonely. No one should have to live their life alone, in isolation. I look up, tilting my face to the sky, feeling the crisp snowflakes fall gracefully against my cheeks, and sigh heavily. Why me? The old ramshackle microwave shrieks loudly and pulls me out of my smokey grey fog. I look out to the cold, but breathtaking Manhattan skyline before me, silhouetted against a purple sky before the damn microwave beeps again, demanding more of my attention.  I decided to reheat my drink from earlier. It’s a special brew I use to help further my existence, I suppose. One might even call it weird, or unnecessary; one of those weird lifestyle brand shakes that people are pushing on the population at an alarming rate. A magic elixir of sorts, for weight loss or building muscle. This is similar, I guess with lots of vitamins and minerals. But mine is more locally sourced.  BEEEEP!! I roll my eyes in frustration and decide I must tend to my demanding appliance, and I do beg of you, to please understand my irritants and not to take it as arrogance. I’m just a little fed up with my perpetual loneliness. But something catches my attention as I whip my head to the left. Strawberries. Oh God. I haven’t tasted real strawberries in many years. I have a certain allergy, and if ingested, well I fear the outcome isn’t good. I have an incredible sense of smell in fact, and strawberries have what is called an HDMF compound. Some might say they simply smell fruity, but because of the compound, they give off a caramel aroma.  A low growl rips from my chest as I search out the provocative bouquet that has my mind a mess of jumbled nerves. My body feels as if it’s one big live wire; ready and waiting for this creature to appear. I lean over the rusty fire escape of my apartment, as I lean in and zero in on my prey. Get it together, Everett! Stop acting like an animal, for God’s sake. I swallow hard, gulping down every bit of desire I have not to leap over the decayed iron bars and help myself to my fantasy. But there she is, the source of the splendid smell of the delicious red fruit. She’s standing at the crosswalk of 42nd Street. Her long, silky black hair is wrapped around her neck like a scarf, keeping her warm. She’s wearing a gray wool coat that hugs her curvy figure to perfection. The loud bleeding of horns, revving engines and the voices of over 8 million people fade away, as I continue to focus on this one woman. The myriad of automobiles zoom across the street in a flash, and waft her scent, like a cloud as it bathes me in its affections. I can feel my eyes dilate as I focus, and my heart would have stopped. If it hadn't already 150 years ago.