How many broken hearts surround me now? How many mateless souls are drowning in nostalgia here? I sit at the watering hole for the concrete jungle’s mourners. Never have I seen so many lonesome patrons. They sip lattes, they read books, they avoid eye contact. I wonder, are they hiding behind their laptops, just as I have done so many times before? I’m not sure that any of them are genuinely interested in the novel, in the Facebook newsfeed, in the tumblr dashboard, that sit before their eyes. How strangely beautiful these empty frames are to me. Watching them stare blankly under the dim candle light of this cafe, I want to know what is it is they long for.