The Brown Eyed Dreamer

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


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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.


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Darling- A Letter of Hope

Darling, how could you want to die?
Times have been hard lately darling,
We can see the pain in your eyes-
But please don’t utter those horrible words;
Don’t tell us you want to die.

How could you want to die
When you have ears to hear music,
And feet to dance along?
When you have a head to feel life’s pain
And a heart to grow strong?

How could you want to die
With so many books to find and read
And so many waiting tales?
With so many paths to be uncovered
And so many seas to sail?

Darling, how could you want to die?
There’s still so much hope here
And it’s waiting outside your door,
Darling how could you want to die
When there’s so much in life to live for?


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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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People Exist.

It’s a weird feeling, the sudden realisation of the people around you. Not the crowds of emotionless faces you see on streets pushing past other emotionless faces, the lines of impatient frowns waiting for their coffees in a crowded café on a Wednesday afternoon- people. It’s strange to come to the realisation that these aren’t just faces and bodies and obstacles and hold-ups and filled space, these are people. And not just any people, people with a story, just like me yet so unlike me.

It’s strange to think that all around me, there are literally a billion stories going on, a billion paths being walked and uncovered. There are people living and experiencing and journeying in this adventure we call life, and it has nothing to do with me. There’s you, for instance. Right now, you’re reading this post, but afterwards, your life story is going to continue and I’m going to have no idea what will happen next. After I post this, my story will continue, but you’ll have no idea what will happen. We exist in the same universe but never acknowledged each other until right this second, and in a few seconds we could forget that again and carry on existing on our own, forgetting everybody else in an instant.

We’re all pinpricks of light floating through a chasm of darkness, so focused on our own trails we forget to focus on the mosaic of light around us and why it’s there. I always knew there were people around me, but I never thought about the fact that these people lived. That man in front of me at the check-out has friends and family, hopes, dreams, allergies, regrets. That girl who was waiting in the car park across from me has a story I have no idea about that she’s still working out for herself. All these faces I see and forget within moments, that form the backdrop to my life story, those faces have names and emotions and their own stories. And me? I’m just someone else’s background to their great story, another fading star in a sea of dark.


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Glass Confetti

Am I the only one who daydreams about stepping in the path of a train or a car? Not in a suicidal way, I don’t want to kill myself; I simply have a niggling fascination as to what it would feel like in those few seconds of impact.

I’ve always thought of just stepping forward into nothing, what that would feel like. The car hasn’t hit you yet but you know it’s coming, and in that moment you are absent of any emotion apart from an odd sense of anticipation for what is about to ensue. You don’t have time to move away, to panic, you simply lunge forward into the abyss of the accident, the eye of the hurricane. I wonder would I close my eyes, or would I keep them wide open until the neon glare of car headlights engulfs my entire vision. Or would it be over before I could really decide, and I’d simply fall without realisation of what is happening?

And then it hits you.

I wonder what that would feel like too. Like the pins and needles you get trying to walk on a dead leg? Like suddenly being plunged under an ice cold wave, until your lungs burst from trying to break free from the waters vice-like grip? Like touching fire and only realising a second later, white hot pain that takes a second to register? A force so strong it knocks every ounce of breath out of your body? Or would you feel so much pain it seems you feel nothing at all? You simply hear the screech, the screams, a dull heavy thud somewhere close beside you (did it hit me? Should I not feel that?). There’s only the quiet slam of metal colliding against skin, and the sharp crescendo of shattering bones like glass confetti scattered in the wind.

I wonder if my mind would be able to think, to recall every memory I’ve experienced in a kaleidoscope of images before my eyes. Or would the windscreens, engines and tyres swallow me into darkness and overpower my mind before I could take my next breath? I’d be alive one second, and the next- gone.

I feel crazy for even thinking all of this, to ponder pain with such inquisitive eyes. Mostly I ignore the little voice that calls me in, but still I see the headlights flash, feel the flutter of the air as cars move past, hear the gentle grind of tyres beckon me closer. And I wonder, I wonder, I wonder- what would it be like? I wonder, but I’m not sure I shall ever know.


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Longing of Escaping

I want to read,
Slip from library corners into pools of words,
Feel adventure flood my veins,
As dog-eared, leafed through pages,
Gently beckon me in.

I want to run,
Stopping when paths end and breath falls short,
Exist only as a thudding heartbeat,
The breath of a ragged sigh,
And raindrops dancing off skin.

I want to sleep,
Fall through the arch of eyelids fluttering closed,
Watch as time ticks slow,
Dreams bursting in blooms of light,
Casting shadows on a cold, cluttered mind.


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I Think I’ll Be Okay.

The last couple of weeks have been awful. Exam stress and my over thinking mind combined to make a minefield of angry bombs exploding doubts and fear in my face no matter how precariously I stepped to avoid their trap. I spent so much time feeling horrible and people were beginning to notice, some even commenting on it, asking me to cheer up. But it was only this morning I realised something very important. I was in a bad place, but that wasn’t a bad thing.

I realised I’m allowed to get sad once in a while. I can lock myself in my room, turn off the lights and turn up my music. I can spend hours listening to Radiohead and David Bowie and crying silently into a pillow. I can write down everything I feel, let every slice of pain, doubt and anger cutting at my mind splash onto the page before me. I can fall asleep or just lie there motionless, thinking of everything and nothing. I can stay in there all night without emerging, alone, slow steady chords rolling forlornly through my head. I can be sad if I want to. It’s normal. It’s human.
I can always be happy tomorrow. But if I’m not happy in the morning, that’s okay too. I can refuse to get dressed or put effort into my appearance. I can make myself food and go back to my room, passing half-heartedly mumbles to my parents as I pass. I can ignore text messages, Skype calls, human contact. I can refuse to see people I don’t want to see. I can shut myself off if I want to. It’s ordinary. It’s fine.
People seem to believe that sadness is a bad thing. That crying is weakness, and not being okay is definitely not okay. But let me tell you something- you don’t have to be happy today. You don’t have to be happy tomorrow. If you don’t want to be better today, you don’t have to be. You’re not weak because you’re sad and can’t face it anymore; you’re strong because you’ve carried pain this far. Everyone has a time when they’re down. You shouldn’t feel pressured to be alright just because everyone else wants you to be happy. You’re not a burden because you don’t feel your best.
You’re a person, and if you’re sad, you can be sad. Just know that even if you don’t want to be happy now, there will be a day when happiness will be a welcome friend. And on that day you can step out and take its hand and it will be just fine, I can promise you that. But until then you can cave into your sorrow if you want. To hurt is to be human. Happiness is patient; it will wait. That is the lesson I learnt this morning.
So no, today I am not okay, and tomorrow I may not be okay either. But guess what? That’s okay.


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The Little Things

The smell of freshly made coffee on a Sunday morning.

Sand falling through fingertips and breeze blowing through hair.

Rolling back over and falling back to sleep.

Goosebumps that cascade along spines when a new favourite song is played.

The feeling of being the only one awake in the world.

Setting down a pen after the last exam.

Waking up to shafts of sunlight pouring through the blinds.

The freshness of newly washed clothes.

Having a child scream your name and run towards you, arms outstretched with a huge grin.

Seeing the sun rise or counting the stars in the sky.

Watching someone smile and blush when you compliment them.

The sound of a piano in a huge and empty hall.

When coloured glass makes bright mosaics of light along the wall.

The musty smell of old bookshops and libraries.

Stumbling across a scrap-book full of memories and stories, vaguely familiar and almost forgotten.

The dull thud of rain against the window.

Babies wrapping tiny fragile hands around a finger.

 Because sometimes it’s the little things which are the most precious, and the most beautiful.