The Brown Eyed Dreamer

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


2 Comments

NaNoWriMo- Day 1

Anyone would’ve looked away at this point- after all, it was only a mundane interaction between boy and girl, waitress and customer. But something stopped me from averting my eyes, and that’s when I saw it. I watched her walk behind the counter to get his coffee, and I watched his eyes as he followed her every move. And in his stare was a look that had gone unnoticed to everyone except me. There in his soft smile and bright eyes stood that tiny flickering flame, that glimmering shred of hope shining in a kaleidoscope of quiet despair. I watched him watch her with such intensity it seemed to pain him, and eventually his eyes dropped back to his book. He shook his head, sighed softly, eyes riveting over the pages but not seeming to take anything in. A few seconds later she was back with his drink and they were both smiling and laughing as friends again- but I’d seen it. I’d recognised that look; it had existed in so many faces that passed through this old café. It was a look that occurred over cups of coffee, in all those hellos and goodbyes and in all those careless wandering words that filled the spaces in between. 
The poor boy was in love, and the girl he looked at with such longing had absolutely no idea.

So this year I’ve decided to do NaNoWriMo again as a way of trying to get into writing again. This year I’m writing a collection of short stories all about the many regulars of one café. Above is a small excerpt of what I’ve written so far; it’s been great so far getting back into the feel of writing! Good luck to everyone doing NaNo this year and if I don’t write here again before the end of the month, have a wonderful November everyone!

~thebrowneyeddreamer


Leave a comment

A bitter thank-you; An honest goodbye.

I should really thank you for
Making me perfect cups of tea and
Showing me all your favourite bands and
Staying up late to say everything about nothing.

But I just want to forget about
Wasted tears falling in empty mugs and
Reminders of you in every stupid song
And staying up waiting for replies that never came.

You never really cared,
Did you?


2 Comments

One Day

One day you’re going to wake up to an empty bed
And realise exactly what you’re missing.
In between the sheets will lie the soft scent and gentle laughter
Of a girl you fed lies to, a girl you led to her demise
All in the name of a love you knew was never true.
So I hope that laughter tugs at your chest,
And that scent wraps itself around your throat
And reminds you how beautiful she was, how wonderful she was
And how stupid you are for noticing too little too late.
One day you’re going to watch her walk straight past
And realise exactly what you just let go.
Cry out all you want- curse until your lips crack dry,
It was always going to end this way;
You let her slip between your slithering grasp
And she’s too far away to get back.


1 Comment

Bridge

A walk home through the park
Where darkness swallows every stride,
Your hand in mine because you know I get afraid.
Took me to the bridge
To hold me tight and kiss me slowly,
When you stop to ask that lingering question.
‘Is it perfect for you too?’

Yes, the breeze whispers through branches,
Yes, the river murmurs underneath,
But still mouth forms no words.
Look straight into wide, inquisitive eyes,
Nod profusely, please let that be enough,
I swear, I swear more than anything,
It’s perfect for me too.


Leave a comment

Ramblings

I love how  you speak. Words roll gently out of your mouth and slow dance around our heads like the ripples of firefly ashes that glide from a dying flame. Your voice wraps itself around my mind and lingers long after silence envelopes the spaces between you and I, your lips whispering sweet nothings in my ear. Your words, always the right ones, like you took the time to pick them out for me. before letting them escape your mouth.

It could not be more different from how I speak. My mouth is a babbling brook, words frothing out of my throat and tumbling clumsily through the silence.  They gather like the final wave of the sea, crashing ashore as words slop over each other and muddle together as they spill out of my lips. My chatter cartwheels around your gentle flame in excitable, graceless bounds. Before I can stop them, they plummet from my mouth and pierce through the silence, never the right words, never what I wanted to say.

But your words are there to meet my words, to calm them into a quiet, ebbing shore. Your soft voice is there to lull my nervous high-pitched ramblings into sweet serenity. A few simple words to slow my cluttered mess of a mind, a few of the right words, the best words. Something in the way you speak enchants me, and I’m left mesmerised by the way in which you speak, the beauty that lies in how you talk.


Leave a comment

Of Yesterday

Of yesterday I’ll remember,
The sharp brightness of February’s sun,
Cold air that cloaked two figures side-by-side,
Hands brushing like the whisper of the wind.
I’ll remember the hushed whir of a projector,
Shoulders touching gently in the dark,
Silent anticipation held in fleeting glances
And the fumbling of fingers on laps.
The sound of laughter will echo in my mind,
Of teasing, play-fighting and stupid faces,
And your eyes, your eyes bright in the sunlight,
Will remain long after memory fades.
I’ll remember a train ride home,
The sky fading to an inky shadow that cloaks
The world surrounding as fast as the cold,
Day fading slowly as shadows crawl in.
An arm relaxed around my shoulders,
Fingers braiding and unbraiding themselves,
In hands I had not known before,
And a soft, comforting voice beside me.
But most of all I’ll remember the moonlight,
The gentle creak of rusted swings in the breeze,
And your lips, your lips a breath from mine,
Then no distance left between.


Leave a comment

Valentine

I don’t understand how anyone could hate Valentine’s day, because once you peel back the plastic, fake exterior of heart-shaped balloons, chocolate and material roses, you see the small sliver of what the day is all about- love. Pure, simple, love.

It blows my mind to think of how many people found love today, whether greeting it as a tentative stranger or welcoming it like an old friend. The many people who let the weight finally fall off their shoulders and confessed their feelings, letting emotion tumble clumsily out of them and into somebody else.

Think of the amount of fluttering butterflies, hammering hearts and shaking sweaty palms. The amount of pens poised above paper, fingers hovering over keys and lips parted ready to speak. The amount of people who took the plunge into the ice cold deep, and were forced to wait a shattering few seconds for a reply.

‘I feel the same.’

The amount of breaths released like balloons to the sky, eyes lit up like lanterns and smile dancing across faces. The amount of people whose lips slowly met another’s in a moment of pure, honest love, as a thousand sparks exploded and cascaded around their heads and raced to the ceiling above their heads.

The amount of fingers intertwined and hands gently brushing. The amount of blushes, stumbles, stutters, giggles, smiles. The amount of confessions released and stories began. Heart-wrenching, raw, beautiful, entwined in a single touch, smile and word passed between smiling lips- love. That is why I love Valentine’s Day.


Leave a comment

The Curious Ones

I have a love for the curious ones in this life. I find the world a fascinating place full of mystery and adventure just waiting to be uncovered and explored, and finding someone who sees the world in that same way is an amazing thing to me. I love people who question the world and how it works, people who are keen to learn and explore and experience. I love people who reach out in the dark and grasp at the unknown, ready to face whatever they find. I love the glint in their eyes which are always moving to and fro, taking in every nook, cranny and crevice; I love how a question is always on the tip of their tongue, lips curled into an awestruck gentle smile. I love their giddy excitement for new things, their eagerness to try something new and relish in change. I love how they view the world around them with such questioning eyes and the more I grow to know them, the more I begin to see the world in the curiously intricate way they do. I soon fall in love with their world, and in a little way, with them too.


1 Comment

The Art of Disappearing- Part One.

[Inspired by the writing prompt from Alice Kuiper’s website, here.]

He didn’t want to be a victim; that was the very last thing he wanted. He didn’t want lines of stony faces watching him with cold, emotionless eyes as he slouched along the corridor, head bent in a vain attempt to hide himself. He didn’t want sympathetic pats on the back and pep talks from awkward teachers, and brand-new, supportive ‘friends’. He didn’t want people tip-toeing around him like he was a bomb ready to explode. He didn’t want to come home every day to find his mother sat at the table, concentrating on something in the far difference that only her eyes could see. He didn’t want to walk about in this alien world where everyone pretended everything was fine while everything crumbled around them.

He didn’t want any of this. High School was the only place where he could escape from everything that had happened. All he wanted to was blend, and now he stuck out more than ever. And the scar probably didn’t help.

It was a huge gash running from his top lip up to his cheek bone, bright red as if bursting with blood. He hated the way people stared at him now, never fully being able to meet his eyes when they talked to him. He hated the whispers hardly hidden behind hands as he passed by, the rumours and speculations about what really happened that night. He hated the interrogations, people who’d never passed acknowledgement now wanting to know if he was okay, their eyes begging for a piece of truth, a delicious sliver of revelation on the incident. He always ignored the stares, bowed his head and carried on walking, mumbling a half-hearted reply and shrugging his shoulders as he left.

Today was a day just like any other. His mum barely tore her gaze away from the spot on the kitchen wall to say goodbye to him before he left, and after closing the door he knew already he’d come home six hours later to find her sitting there in the same position, fixated on a memory frozen in her mind. She’d completely changed since everything had fallen apart; she was barely a person anymore, merely a ghost trapped in another night. In his own confusion about everything, he chose to ignore it, making sure she had food and water and always leading her up to her bed at night. He felt more like a carer than a son- but instantly he pushed these thoughts to the back of his head. He didn’t want sympathy. He wasn’t a victim.

Everything could be normal if he could pretend for long enough.

His hood up in the light drizzle, no one could see his face. No one could know who he was, and in that brief, momentous walk to school he was a normal kid, not the boy everyone had heard about. He could walk and passers-by didn’t lift their heads in recognition, cars didn’t slow while drivers stared out of windows, mouths slightly agape. No one could see his scar, and in his head he could imagine his skin free of bruising and scar tissue.

He was so caught up in his daydream of perfect normality he didn’t notice anyone walking alongside him until a voice spoke from beside his right ear. A voice that was warm and quiet and completely unfamiliar, that flowed gently through the air like a fresh breeze on a Summer’s day.

‘Sometimes it’s nice to disappear, isn’t it?’


Leave a comment

Slow Dancing in a Quiet Café

Picture this. A small, fairly unknown café on a street corner in late September, where inside it draws closer to closing time. And there’s you, in a small booth beside the window, coffee cradled in your hands to warm your fingers. The first leaves have begun to fall from the trees,carried in a cool Autumn breeze past the window and skittering along the pavement. You’d be busy marvelling at the beauty outside the window if you weren’t marvelling at the beauty sitting opposite you.

This person; you’ve only known them a short while and yet you’ve already formed this bond a thousand years of friendship couldn’t match. This person with eyes so wide and welcoming, and a smile that awakens the butterflies in your chest and makes your hands clammy. They’re sitting in front of you, this sweet smile playing across their lips as they tell you a story, and you can’t help but smile and nod along within them, completely captured by their everything. You barely lift your head to nod a ‘thank-you’ at the waitress busily scrubbing at the crumbs on your table, so absorbed in this wonderful being in front of you. And it is only when you reluctantly stand up to leave the café that you realise it is empty except for a few half-empty coffee cups scattered across tables. The waitress has disappeared into the kitchen, leaving the both of you completely alone.
‘I had no idea we’d stayed here so long!’ they exclaim, looking at you with a small smile. You shake your head to stop yourself getting lost in those eyes and try to think of something to say.
‘Time flies when you’re having fun, I guess,’ you reply, scratching the back of your head, unable to stop a smile and nervous laugh escaping your lips.
You always hate this part the most; goodbyes have never been your favourite things. You hate the awkward goodbyes and promises of seeing each other again which mostly get broken. You pack away your stuff slowly, trying to savour the moment for as long as possible. Meanwhile they stand patiently beside you, humming along quietly to the tune crackling out of the old battered radio on the checkout table.
‘This is my favourite song,’ you utter, looking up. Your gaze is met to a hand reaching out to you where behind lies an expectant gaze and curious smile. You return a questioning gaze, an eyebrow raised.
‘Do you want to dance?’
The small question is answered by a quiet gasp. Nervously, you take their hand and straighten up. You both draw closer, until your bodies are gently brushing each other, and you can feel their chest rise with each breath while their heartbeat gently thuds against your chest. You pray they cannot hear the intense thudding of your own heart and begin to dance.
The moves are slow and simple, perfectly matching the smooth, calming acoustics of the song. You both remain silent, eyes locked as you spin and step to and fro. Your fingers intertwine, they absent-mindedly stroking your thumb with theirs as you roll a strand of hair intricately through your fingers. Small, shy smiles create conversation that no words could match, the silence enveloping you both in your own world. Their eyes are pools that reflect yours, searching your face, trying to create a memory as feverishly as your eyes are. You could happily stare at those eyes forever, fall deep into the crevices of their soul and remain there in perfect serenity. You could fall in love with those eyes.
And so that is how your perfect date with this perfect person comes to an end; not with stiff, awkward hugs and the drop of your chest as you have to watch them walk away, but with a slow dance in an empty, quiet café in late September. A café where outside leaves fall and life moves on, and where inside two people dance to the gentle rhythm of two hearts beating as one.