The Brown Eyed Dreamer

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


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The First Night

All I can remember of those rooms,
Was a haze that fell along the walls,
And laughter that rose and fell like
Confetti bursts at the final bell toll.
I remember smiles wide as sunlight,
And kisses from foreign, familiar faces-
Promises that friendships made
Would not be forgotten.

But most of all I remember
The soft, sweet certainty that
Told me even if every other night
Of these 365 memories is laced
With bittersweet regret;
This night would remain the beacon
Of a beautiful,
Wonderful,
New Year.

Morning all! This post was quickly scribbled about five minutes ago as I’m walking to work so I apologise in advance if it makes no sense. 2013 for me was a wonderful year, and I was fortunate enough to spend the transition into 2014 with some of my most favourite people.
In regards to 2014, I can only hope it brings me good music, good food and good memories with the very best friends. I hope you all had a fantastic New Year and that this year will be the very best yet. Have a wonderful day!

~thebrowneyeddreamer


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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


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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?


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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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We’ll fall in love with the memories we’ll make.

And someday I’m going to leave this place and see the world and I’m going to fall in love. Not with a person, no- that kind of love is too bittersweet, too heartbreakingly fragile.

I’m going to fall in love with buildings and pavements and old rusting street signs pointing me to places I’ve yet to explore. I’m going to fall in love with sunsets and sunrises, and those precious melancholy moments between dusk and dawn where reality slips away into shadows and dreams appear. I’m going to fall in love over half-finished cups of coffee and faded musty books that still hold the imprints of fingers stroking lovingly over their dog-eared pages. I’m going to fall in love with the feeling of sand falling through my fingers and the sound of the ocean in a storm. I’m going to fall in love with the creaking of a house in the night-time and the endless patter of rain against my window. I’m going to fall in love with the people I meet and the places I see, the sounds I hear and the foods I taste.

I’m going to fall in love, but not with you, with everything this world can offer me.


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Only in Night

I tell myself I’m okay with being alone
And a part of me believes it.

But another part creeps out in the night and
Mourns over the empty, crumpled sheets
That still hold your shape and your scent. It
Cries over the memories of interlocked fingers
And lips held only a breath apart-
So familiar though so far away.

I tell myself I’m okay with being alone
But only if I’m alone
With you.


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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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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.