The Mona Lisa is, for many, a beautiful painting. I wouldn’t want to own it, with all the implications that’d bring. It’s not an attractive proposition.

A Ferrari Dino is beautiful, though being parked outside my terraced house would be problematic.

Nearer to my actual reality, that detached farmhouse on the way out to the hills is really appealing, though the work I’d have to put in to afford it isn’t.

Riding around West Africa on a dirt bike would be beautiful, but the implications on the rest of my life make it unattractive right now.

Beauty is one thing. Attractive, quite another.

Noting the distinction fights that wistful feeling.