The Brown Eyed Dreamer

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

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The Storm

A storm is on its way.
I often wonder how I would react to hearing this; knowing that life is but an hourglass and that the last few grains of sand are about to fall? How would I feel knowing that the end is but a few heartbeats and a final breath away? I wonder would I be able to utter a final sentence- a shaken ‘goodbye’, a stuttered ‘I love you’, or maybe a soft and bitter ‘I’m sorry’? Would words burst out of my mouth in a tidal wave of shocked emotions, spilling a kaleidoscope of stumbling sentences across the empty rooms before me? Would I sit in wounded, wide-eyed silence, unable to even believe the words I am hearing? Or would I raise my head to the skies, open my arms wide to the heavens and smile, knowing that finally it would all be over? Maybe I’m ready to be washed away with the rain, have lightning race through my blood and thunder roar through my skull.
A storm is on its way, and I think I’m ready to face it.

(Inspired by the song ‘Time’ by Hans Zimmer.)

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Eccentricities of Intimacy

How strange it is to miss
The sense of skin I never felt,
Hands that only lay shy and
Never once interlocked.
How strange it is to hear
Words that were never said
But hung on jagged hooks-
Only silence between us.
How strange it is to want
Somebody when I know
Nobody who wants to be
With anybody.