The American Dream

I stand at the edge of New York — city of clouds and confessions.

People rush by, carrying coffees, phones, and unfinished hopes.

I wonder: what do they still dream of?

A waitress in Brooklyn tells me,

“My dream? To afford peace and health care.”

An artist in SoHo whispers,

“To be seen for what I create, not where I’m from.”

A student in Harlem laughs softly,

“To graduate without drowning in loans.”

And an immigrant by the Hudson says,

“Freedom is not a flag. It’s being respected.”

I listen.

And I realize — the American Dream isn’t dead.

It just speaks in quieter voices now.

In the breath between survival and soul.

In the courage to stay kind.

In the choice to still dream.

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