Taxis whizzed by, lights flashed, and people skipped off, talking hurriedly. This was New York City. The only home I had ever known. Truthfully, it wasn't that grande. Oh, yes, the expensive restaurants with their amazing cuisine isn't so bad nor the beautiful, ancient statues, but yet it still bore me. I was born a city girl, but in my heart I felt this longing of something else-- something different and new. I hadn't found out just what that is, but I was determined to. I suppose you could say my life is a mystery, and I was just a walking daydream, looking for the slightest hope.
I was forced to stop my dilly-dallying and hurry home to my mother who, I knew, would be waiting for me at the small table with her specially made food for me. I remembered coming home on days like these, wishing my father would still be sitting at that same table, his eyes twinkling like always. I could still imagine him there, asking about my day, and always encouraging me to dream as far as my mind could go for, like he said, dreams can take you to wondrous places. Well, he was gone, now. My dear father had been killed in a car accident coming home one late night. I still remembered that dreadful, cloudy day, sitting on my window seat, watching for him as I always had done. After his death, I had changed. I didn't sit and dream, but yet lied crumpled in my bed, crying myself to sleep. A month had passed, and that was when I had regained my strength. For the first time, I realized mother needed me more than ever, and that was also when I held on to my dreams, and hoped one day they just might come true.
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