The Brown Eyed Dreamer

'Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.' William Wordsworth


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Passionate People

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.

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Daydreaming

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.


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A Love Like That

I want a love like my parent’s.

They met each other through church when they were just kids, and happened to be in the same group. My mum told me that she fell for my dad as soon as she met him, and decided that he was going to be hers. And from that day she obsessed over my dad and followed him like a lone sick puppy.
My dad, on the other hand, was not so fond of mum; in fact, he found her constant presence annoying. And so for most of high school she followed him around and he tried his very best to ignore her, his eyes always more focused on two pretty blond sisters in school. Constant rejection eventually got the better of my mum however, and eventually she must have given up on the idea of my dad, and passed him in the hallways without giving him a backward glance. And suddenly, dad started to notice mum.
In a strange kind of way, he missed her excitable giggly nature and how eager she was to please. He missed her small figure looking up at him with pure wonderment in her child-like eyes. He missed the daydreaming looks and small blushing smiles she flashed him when they passed by each other. He missed the girl, who, despite having an amazing ability to annoy him more than anyone else, loved him with her everything. He missed the girl who had once seemed so plain, and now stood out amongst everyone. And so it came to be that on one day at a church event, something pretty amazing happened.
Now, remember I mentioned the two blond sisters? Well, their mother seemed to think my dad was a perfect match for her daughters, and thought she’d tell my dad so.
‘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?’
Dad smiled a little, at two girls he’d spent most of his school life thinking about, then turned round to a small girl beside him. A girl with child-like eyes and a giggly nature, who’d spent years falling head over heels for him and hadn’t stopped. A girl who looked up at him at that very moment, her eyes clouded with confusion and tiny shreds of hope, her mouth ever so slightly agape.
‘I think,’ he replied, sliding an arm around her shoulders, ‘I think I’ll stick with Kay for now.’
And so they walked off, leaving a frustrated mother with two very pretty but slightly embarrassed sisters. Soon after they started dating, and years after that they got married. Now about twenty years later, their love is still as strong and pure as it was that day and the days that followed. Yes, they’ve had their hard times, but they’ve pulled through. They made it through the worst of it, and although there’s probably more to come I think they have a strength that can endure.
When I see my parents all I can see is this overwhelming love. A love that I think everyone should have a notion of, a love that one day I hope to find. A love that I hope finds me.


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Merry Christmas!

Just a quick post to wish you all an amazing day wherever you are! It’s 2am in the UK and I’ll be waking up in a few hours to start celebrating. I hope you all are safe and well, and have an absolutely wonderful Christmas and a very happy new year! And for all those families who have lost somebody this year, I hope this Christmas brings you peace and hope, and I wish you all the best in the new year.
Have a fabulous day everyone! Much love,

Parneaus- thebrowneyeddreamer


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The Next Morning

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.


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The Little Things

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.

 Because sometimes it’s the little things which are the most precious, and the most beautiful.


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I want to know you.

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.