I like dreamers. They are not realistic in the least, and it is the most endearing thing.
“I’m going to do this,” they say, and I lean in close. “Tell me more! Tell me of all the things you’ll do!” And it excites me to see just how unfazed these people are by reality’s demands, how willing they are to say to reality, “Beat it, scram!”
Reality is like the cranky nanny who never wanted the children to have any fun whatsoever. “Fairies aren’t real!” she scowls to the little girls playing in the garden. (Please picture an English countryside scene for this image, because that is how I see it playing out in my head.)
Reality is bills and jobs spent in cubicles and breakups and illnesses and death. We have enough reality already. That is why I like dreamers.