Not to be confused with Dreams, Wishful Thinking floats away in the breeze as another woolly notion takes its place. It drives no passion and generates no drive. It is seen in the smacking of lips for strawberry ice-cream topped with crushed peanuts but making no effort to taste. It is the catch in the eye as a shiny toy glides smoothly by but in the next minute forgotten as the DJ plays Miley's song.
Dreams on the other hand, burrow deep in jars of clay, germinating in hope, wrapping roots of emotion around fistfuls of desire whilst trying not to choke on self-deprecating fallacies. Far from being ever ready carebears of love and light, Dreams inch upwards in dogged perseverance, all the while anticipating failure, struggling to keep composure whilst thoughtless hands threaten to signal out its humble progress as hubris, shredding already tiny filaments of self-belief.
Dreams are no easy ambition to pursue, no easy road to travel, no pleasure cruise. Dreams are found in soiled hands, furrowed brow and a tested spirit, in questioning hearts, desperate conviction and limitless fulfillment.
Once in a while, Dreams may chance upon Wishful Thinking, wondering if life would be easier carefree and easygoing, but retrospective appreciation kicks it up a gear and drives Dreams off in a fluffy Bugatti.