The Brown Eyed Dreamer

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

Mute

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How is it that when I’m alone reels of pages appear before my eyes

Entire stories woven with the words I wanted to say but

Never found the bravery to let pass beyond my lips.

How is it that when I’m alone phrases flower on my tongue

But when I look into his eyes they falter, never flow

The silent sentences shrivel, their dried petals falling slow

I love him, but what will I do without the words to tell him so?

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Author: thebrowneyeddreamer

Teenage girl from the mysterious, rainy land of Northern Ireland, obsessed with music, France and movies. I like to write books and poetry when I can get my head out of the clouds.

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