Not with a smile spread across my lips
Or an energetic laugh
Making my two friends holler with joy
As I spill out a witty remark.

But rather
With downcast eyes
Glaring at the shadowed pavement
Hoodie dangling from my shoulder
Stack of binders desperately trying to slip from my grip.
The moon beginning to make its descend
Behind the towering bus stop
Teenagers huddling around each other
Whispering into the muggy dawn.

My brain fuddling with sleep deprivation
I was always exhausted
Nothing satisfied my body  
Not the ambitions
Pumping in my veins
Strolling down the bustling streets
Of the city that never sleeps
Committed to land a position
As a front page writer
For the New York Times.

This routine of waiting
For a dream so far out of my reach
Is monotonous.
A cycle I can't quit
Even if I was granted the choice