I have a tendency to fall for passionate people. One of my favourite things is watching someone talk about something they truly love and are passionate about. The way their eyes light up and their whole being suddenly becomes alive and enchanted. I love how they talk in awed tones with flourishing hand movements, everything about them filling with light and delight. I can’t help but smile with them as they discuss with me, their love ebbing into me as I nod along and listen intently.. And even if it’s a topic I have virtually no interest in, if the person is passionate about it, they’ll have me hanging onto their every word.
It’s always late at night when eyes flutter closed,
That hopes and dreams truly show themselves,
In the darkness images burst into life and I see,
For the first time, all that I want.
A quiet café in Paris, late October, I see a girl,
Pen poised above paper, eyes closed in thought,
A forgotten coffee sits untouched and slowly cooling,
A pastry crumbles in her contemplating hands.
An idea strikes like lightning through her mind,
Her eyes dance with delight as she comes to life,
Pastry drops through fingers, pen frantically scribbles,
Line after line floods onto paper.
Finished, she dots the last word; triumphantly drops the pen,
Lifts the coffee and winces at the cold, metallic taste.
Shifted back to reality, she shakes her head, grabs her coat,
Passes the waitress a distracted smile as she goes.
Hands in pockets, she steps through streets of strangers,
Curious eyes soaking in every brick, sign and face she sees,
She walks without conversation, but her mind rambles on,
Every ebb of her imagination filling the silence around her.
And it is that girl I see every time I close my eyes,
The girl lost in a world of her own, caught up in her very own story,
The girl, that when brought out of dreams into reality,
Could maybe someday become me.
I want a love like my parent’s.
‘Billy,’ she greeted him, a girl on either side of her, ‘I know you and my daughters would go very well together. Which of them would you like to go on a date with?’
And in the morning,
When the lights are too harsh,
When the night’s sparks have long since faded,
Please don’t let me forget you,
Please don’t let me regret you.
And in the morning,
When the cold seems too heavy,
When my lips have long since left yours,
Please don’t let you forget it,
Please don’t let you regret it.
The smell of freshly made coffee on a Sunday morning.
Sand falling through fingertips and breeze blowing through hair.
Rolling back over and falling back to sleep.
Goosebumps that cascade along spines when a new favourite song is played.
The feeling of being the only one awake in the world.
Setting down a pen after the last exam.
Waking up to shafts of sunlight pouring through the blinds.
The freshness of newly washed clothes.
Having a child scream your name and run towards you, arms outstretched with a huge grin.
Seeing the sun rise or counting the stars in the sky.
Watching someone smile and blush when you compliment them.
The sound of a piano in a huge and empty hall.
When coloured glass makes bright mosaics of light along the wall.
The musty smell of old bookshops and libraries.
Stumbling across a scrap-book full of memories and stories, vaguely familiar and almost forgotten.
The dull thud of rain against the window.
Babies wrapping tiny fragile hands around a finger.
There’s so many things about you I want to know. I want to see the real you, and everything that moulds you and makes you, you. There’s so many questions I want to ask you.
I want to know what your favourite season is, whether you prefer stripping down or wrapping up. I want to know if you have hay fever, or if you get a bad cold every Christmas. I want to know your favourite day of the week. I want to know if you like Saturday nights or Sunday mornings best. I want to know how you wake up each morning. Do you sleep sprawled out across the covers or curled in? I want to know if you hum a tune as you put your bread in the toaster. Do you prefer butter or jam? I wonder if you dance about your kitchen, or do you read a book? I want to know the thoughts swirling through your mind as you stir your coffee. Do you have sugar in your coffee, milk? Or maybe you drink tea. These are the things I want to know.
I want to know whether you’re an outdoors person, or whether inside is your haven. I want to know if you like forest walks or beach expeditions. Are you adventurous? I want to know what music you like, or do you like a bit of everything? I want to see you listen to your favourite song, I want to know your favourite song. I want to know if you nod your head in time, or tap your fingers on the table. Do you sing along? Or do you just listen? I want to know if you read books on rainy days, if you like thrillers or fantasy novels better. I want to know if you have a cat that follows you about the house. I want to see you watch movies. I want to know if you cry at the sad parts, and I want to see you laugh uncontrollably. I want to know if you stay up all night or prefer to fall straight to sleep. Are you afraid of the dark? Are you brave? I want to know what you’re afraid of, or find out you have no fears at all.
I want to know what you think about the future, whether you’re planning for an impending zombie apocalypse or saving up for uni. I want to know where you want to travel, what you want to see, what you want to be. Do you want money, fame, love? Do you want 12 kids and a small cottage or a small studio above a shop? I want to see your face light up as you carefully explain your hopes and dreams. Are you afraid of the future, like me? I want to know if you’ll visit your family, if you have friends in exotic places. I want to know if you have big plans. I wonder if you have any plans at all. Maybe you prefer to go with the flow.
I want to know about your interests, your loves, your hates, your past, your present, your future. I have so many questions filling up my head with their clutter about you. I wonder if you think about any of these things at all. Maybe some day I’ll pluck up the courage to ask you.