You know that this city is artificial, but most cities are. Humans live in the streets, barely noticing the signs she's left. Not the street signs - they're just markers on her map.
You mean the ways the city says she loves you.
There are places where the moody purple sunsets look just right, and you feel like you're not alone at all, even though there are thousands of people living around you and that is too many and they will see you, your hair and your bright charms and shoes that don't fit the weather, but they will not know you the way the city knows you and the way you have taken the time to know her too, and the way she breathes in sharp on crisp winter mornings.
You can tell by the feel of her sidewalk what area of the city you're in, because she is young and sleek and smart but also ancient and mysterious and occasionally chilling, especially in the old alleyways where the houses grow and fuse together and light does not find the street. You sing in those places, acoustic bass and warm summer noise, without a hat to collect change because your songs are for the city, not for people. You can sing in the park too, but it is a different and less intimate feeling.
There are so many things about her.
You are in love with the city and it shows everyone with splashes of city council purple over neon green posters for parties you hosted in the park, street crossings that flash your green when it's safe to go. Everything falls into place when you take a minute to stop and think and see something new. You have thought about leaving, but wouldn't it just make the city sad and cold? There are many people here, but none of them listen like you do. You can sit on your roof to watch the sunrise and see the breath of fog get burned away by the sun.
There are so many plants that she grows, though people say a city doesn't have green fingers, doesn't allow for clean air and quiet places. You've proved them wrong a thousand times over, watched tiny trees in gutters and ivy grow on council buildings. She cares. She really does. She is sharp and dark and steel and crumbling stonework, defenses built long ago when you happened to her first and broke through her walls. You crumbled too eventually, but you came back. One day she will crumble too, and maybe become something new. You'll be there, and ready, with your gates open and ready to welcome her in.