Most people say they shoot for the stars and dream in the clouds. I'm tethered to the ground, bent over a well, straining for the specks that drift below in the dark mud water. Dreams don't send you high, they don't take you to dizzying heights of ecstasy. Not mine. It's dangling your arms over the barrier, contemplating if what you want is worth falling head-first into the unknown.
Because you know that those muddy specks in the well are not stars, and you could very well break your neck for a puddle.