The Emptiness of Unmet Dreams

Smoke curls around my face as I stand outside my apartment building, one foot up against the bricks. I tell myself everyday that one will be the last and yet I’m still out here each night watching the sunset through the smoke. I throw my cigarette on the ground, dropping my foot on it, grinding it into the sidewalk. The last light of the day is enough to see the key card swipe as I re-enter my building. My happy-go-lucky smile on my ID stares back at me as I swipe my card to open the door. I remember the day I took that picture like it was yesterday. I had just arrived in New York from a small town in Maine. I had dreams of making something of myself, then. I had the fantasy that my life would be a movie. You know, the one where the little nobody came to the big city and all of her dreams come true. Yeah, those are stupid movies.