The Brown Eyed Dreamer

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


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Mother.

A lot of things remind me of my mother. When the sweet breeze of Summer rolls in and the smell of freshly cut grass fills the air, I see her figure stooped to pick flowers and push the old mower across the lawn. She’d be dodging around the daisies because even though they’re weeds she likes them best and keeps them there. I can almost see her now, camo trousers rolled up to the knee, blowing tufts of hair out of her eyes and wearing a smile as bright as the sun above her.

Saturday mornings are a reminder too, where the gentle ebbs of music and the smell of fresh coffee waft up to my room as I wake up. I’d potter downstairs and she’d be dancing around the kitchen, dishcloth in hand, the dogs winding around her ankles. And she’d be smiling, always smiling. She’d say a quick good morning and I’d join her in making breakfast, dancing and singing along with her.

In the worst of days, my mother’s face has always been close by, a gentle reminder I have somebody. Those days I come back from a hard day at school, and she knows to give me some time to cool off before I talk to anyone. And when I’m ready, she has a coffee ready and is positioned to listen to my whinges and rambles. As a kid, she’d heal every cut and bruise with a band-aid and a kiss, as a teenager she heals every heartbreak and torment with a cuddle and sweet words, the right words.

She’s there between the melody of Razorlight and REM songs, she’s there in the sweet smell of suntan lotion. She’s my Disney movie buddy, my favourite running partner, my best taxi driver and DJ, my cooking instructor, my counsellor, my kebab-eating buddy, my shoulder to cry on. She’s my mother, and I love her more than anything.

And seeing as this is her day, I’d like to dedicate this post to her, the best (and only) mother I’ve ever had. You’ve told us plenty of times you don’t think you do a great job as a mum, but I think know you’re wonderful. So this is for you, mum. I hope you have a fabulous day. And this song is for you, the one song that always brings you to mind:

Love you mum. And happy mothers day everyone!

~thebrowneyeddreamer


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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.