"If you are a dreamer come in If you are a dreamer a wisher a liar A hoper a pray-er a magic-bean-buyer If youre a pretender com sit by my fire For we have some flax golden tales to spin
Ships at a distance have every man's wish on board. For some they come in with the tide. For others they sail forever on the same horizon, never out of sight, never landing until the Watcher turns his eyes away in resignation, his dreams mocked to death by Time. That is the life of men. Now, women forget all those things they don't want to remember, and remember everything they don't want to forget. The dream is the truth. Then they act and do things accordingly.
Whenever I saw a sunset, I would quietly make my secret wish right before the sun tucked under the western horizon and disappeared. It would seem as if the sun had taken my wish with it. I'd make it right before the last speck of light vanished.
"Weetzie could see him--it was a man, a little man in a turban, with a jewel in his nose, harem pants, and curly-toed slippers. "Lanky Lizards!" Weetzie exclaimed. "Greetings," said the man in an odd voice, a rich, dark purr. "Oh, shit!" Weetzie said. "I beg your pardon? Is that your wish?"
"I remember going swimming as a child and making a wish before I jumped into the pool. [...] I'd stretch my arms out, as if I were sending my thoughts right into space. I'd make my wish, then I'd dive into the water. I'd say to myself, "This is my dream. This is my wish," every time before I'd dive into the water."
"We were poor back then. Not living in a cardboard carton poor, not "we might have to eat the dog" poor, but still poor. Poor like, no insurance poor, and going to McDonald's was a really big excitement poor, wearing socks for gloves in the winter poor, and collecting nickels and dimes from the washing machine because she never got allowance, that kind of poor... poor enough to be nostalgic about poverty. So, when my mom and dad took me here for my tenth birthday, it was a really big deal. They'd saved up for two months to take me to the photography store and they bought me a Kodak Instamatic film camera... I really miss those days, because we were still a real family back then... this mall doesn't even have a film photography store anymore, just a cell phone and digital camera store, it's depressing..."
He looked upon this verdant, blossoming spring, a spring Joanna would never see, he looked upon a field of brilliant blue flowers- the bluebells Joanna had so loved- and at that moment he'd willingly have bartered all his tomorrows for but one yesterday.
"I want to see the king," I said, after explaining who I was. "Wonderful," said the ancient Nkumai who sat on a cushion near the corner pole of the house. "I'm glad for you." That was all, and apparently he meant to say no more. "Why are you so glad?" I asked. "Because it's good for every human being to have an unfulfilled wish. It makes all of life so poignant."
What this world doesn't have is the three-wishes, go-to-the-ball-and-meet-your-prince, happily-ever-after kind of magic. We have all the mangling and malevolent kinds. Who *invented* this system?
Felix had gone to live in a lotus land of his imagination. Where what is desired is dreamed of as already happened, where obstacles dissolve under the weight of desire, and where reality has vanished entirely.
When you want a thing so badly for so long, and then it comes time to face that you cannot have it, sometimes--' 'Sometimes you can't believe it when it comes to you. Sometimes you're afraid to believe it. I understand your hesitation.
"And then there's the other thing. The thing I'm trying to ignore. The thing I shouldn't want, the thing I can't have. And he's standing in front of me right now. So what do I wish for? Something I'm not sure I want? Someone I'm not sure I need? Or someone I know I can't have? Screw it. Let the fates decide. How's that for a generalization? I open my eyes, and the wind is blowing harder. St. Clair pushes a strand of hair from his eyes. "Must have been a good one," he says."
"We've stopped in front of Notre-Dame again. I point at the familiar star and clear my throat. "Wanna make another wish?" "You go first." He's watching me, puzzled, like he's trying to figure something out. He bites his thumbnail. This time I can't help it. All day long, I've thought about it. Him. Our secret. He steps on the coppery-bronze star after me and closes his eyes. I realize he must be wishing about his mother, and I feel guilty that she didn't even cross my mind. My thoughts are only for St. Clair. ( . . . ) Do I see the same St. Clair everyone else does? No. I don't think so. But I could be mistaking our friendship for something more, because I to mistake it for something more."