The Brown Eyed Dreamer

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


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Blessing Counting

I used to face every problem that came my way with passive pessimism; I met minor issues with quiet complaints and grumbles, saw a world in grayscale with a slightly musty smell. Everything wasn’t great, but it wasn’t awful either. 

Now that I’m beginning to experience actual sadness, I’m seeing life in a different way. If I let each bout of melancholia drown me in its sea, or let myself be suffocated in sighs of depression, I could not consider myself alive. And so, while shutting myself alone in a room, cradling my cracked carcass of a heart in my arms and crying until I can feel no more tears come to greet my cheeks seems like the easier option when facing dark times, it is not what I do. 

I count my blessings now. 

For every scrap of sad news I hear, for every lurch of disappointment I feel, for every urge to break down that rocks my corpse I give myself a reason to stay standing. I tell myself to put a damn smile on my face and survive, because what’s the point in being anything other than happy? This world is so full of the bitter taste of loneliness and gloom already, so what harm would a little bit of hope do? Why on earth would I lock myself up in all of my doubts, depressions and disappointments when I could simply choose to be happy? Why should I continue complaining when I have so much to be thankful for? I’m alive, aren’t I?

This is how I survive now. And I urge anyone who feels trapped behind the dusty cobwebs of cynicism to try out optimism too. Because, let me tell you, the world looks a hell of a lot brighter in colour. 

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Sans Doute

Aujourd’hui, pour le premier temps 

Je peux dire que je me sent vraiment content 

Et ces sentiments existent grâce à toi. 

Quand j’imagine tes yeux, ton beau sourire 

Ou le son de sa voix 

Je me trouve avec un sourire grand et 

Sans doute, je t’aime. 

Et si cet report n’est pas l’amour, 

Si tu me blesse, 

Si mon cœur se sent chagrin 

Je me sentirai pas de tristesse, pour 

Sans doute, je t’aime-

Et le reste? Ça ne fait rien.

(I wrote this poem a while back, and while things have changed, feelings never really do, so this will always be relevant. Also, excuse my terrible French, I have not spoken the language in months)


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Eccentricities of Intimacy

How strange it is to miss
The sense of skin I never felt,
Hands that only lay shy and
Never once interlocked.
How strange it is to hear
Words that were never said
But hung on jagged hooks-
Only silence between us.
How strange it is to want
Somebody when I know
Nobody who wants to be
With anybody.


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About Time

I watched a movie about time travel and it made me feel so happy to know that maybe someday I’ll find my somebody. I’ll find someone who will teach me how important and how fragile time is, whose every smile, laugh, tear and word will be a golden second in the great ticking clock of my life- somebody whose every fibre of being is soaked in by my mind, who makes every day a great adventure that I want to relive over and over. I’m intoxicated with the idea that someday I will have someone so special to me that no better time is better than the present, that despite every bright sunrise I’ve seen, every beautiful sky I’ve seen fall, there would be no reason for me to ever turn back to the past- for there seems nothing wonderful than the future awaiting me; a future with this somebody- my somebody.


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‘Lovers’

I fear the thought of love because
All too often it’s confused with sex-
And I hate that
Hot breaths and skin on skin
Outweigh
Heartbeats and blushing eyes
And I hate that
Questions asked are
Not about feelings, no;
All about action.
‘Have you done it yet?’
Asked far more than
‘Do you love him yet?’
And I’m scared, I’ll admit,
I’m terrified
You’ll love me for my body
And never know my mind.


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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.