The Brown Eyed Dreamer

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


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A Generation of Lost Dreamers

I think we should always remain as dazed dreamers;
String ambitions like comets in our starry eyes
And follow their trails across the skies.

I think we should dream of the wonderfully impossible;
Hold fantasies like beacons of soft, hopeful glow
And follow their light wherever they go.

 

Picture version:

indieshite


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‘You know I’d never hurt you.’

‘You know I’d never hurt you.’

There’s something so hauntingly bittersweet about that line. Humans are fragile creatures; we bruise and scar like our hearts are made of paper slowly shredding into confetti. We know how vulnerable we are, but we still clumsily hand over our souls to every open palm, only to be forced to stand and watch emotions crushed and bled through menacing fingers. And yet… there’s still a childish curiosity that lingers between our ribcage, a hopeful naivety that flutters and begs to break free. Trust. Hope. It reminds you of laughter, smiles- those memories you tried in vain to suppress because it’s safer to forget, easier to pretend. Love. Peace. It strokes your poor, beaten heart and whispers: ‘Maybe this time will be different.’

Strain to hear it above the chaos of your cluttered mind. Promises break like rusted chains and sometimes people hurt you even when they didn’t want to.That whisper is the sole reminder that things can be better- wounds heal and people can change. Sometimes you have to listen to that tiny whisper in the dark, and just try. Sometimes you just have to take a leap of faith across the chasm of doubts we call life and pray that someone will be there to catch you on the other side. And someday someone will catch you- and maybe they’ll hurt you sometimes, but you know they’ll heal you too.


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Kiss in the Rain

Rain falls in time to a quickened heartbeat,
Two pairs of eyes slowly begin to meet,
Wind whispers through fingers intertwined,
Your lips reach forward to touch with mine,
A slow kiss in the midst of a storm.


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A New Year

When people ask me, ‘Did you enjoy 2012?’, I have to think for a second before answering. Because in that moment, a thousand thoughts flurry through my mind’s eye in a kaleidoscope of colours and emotions.

I see family, friends, laughter, tears, shouting, cheering, love, loss, good points and bad points. I see late nights spent whispering, texting, over-analysing, crying and daydreaming with youthful hope. I see mornings spent running, eating, talking and dancing around my kitchen with my dog. I see a relationship that flourished then shrivelled and grew worn like a flower after Summer’s last sun. I see a friendship that became something more, then simply faded away. I see a summer that could’ve been the best and almost became the worst of my entire life. I see a fractured self-esteem only now learning how to mend itself. I see a dark time of trying to find answers to questions I didn’t have, a time where hands reached out and pulled me back up to a place of light and hope. I see faces, some happy, some sad, some just thoughtful. I see memories which I’ll cherish long after these years are over, memories that will still bring a shine to my eyes and a smile to my lips long after they happened. I see a new year, promising and full of childish hope and naïvety, just waiting for me to explore. I see it all, and then, coming out of my daze, I answer.
‘It’s been an interesting year,’ I reply, a small smile playing on my lips and the glint of a thousand memories and secrets yet untold reflecting in my curious eyes.


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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.