The Brown Eyed Dreamer

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


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Writer’s Block

I can see the scenarios in front of me
Like shots from a movie scene,
The anger, the laughter, the tears
All accompanied by only silence-
I can’t hear the words to tell the story,
And this tale is but a blank canvas
I, the artist, without paint.
Images swirl and fall together
In no order, a jumbled kaleidoscope
Of nonsensical stories,
A twisted mirage of bleak nothings.
I see the end, the final kiss,
The last few moments of a perfect scene-
But the main girl, she’s crying
And the boy, he has no words
This wasn’t the ending we all pictured…
If only I could find the words
To change it.


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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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Life of a Waitress

The funny part about being a waitress is getting
To glimpse the most intimate parts of a person.
I know how much milk you take in your coffee,
How many sugars go into your tea;
If you prefer flavours or just a ‘plain old cuppa’,
If you daintily sip, or hastily slurp.
You pour me life stories as I pour you refills,
And laughter froths over flavoured lattes as
We share a private joke.

And yet; As you leave
You become just another face among a sea of faces,
Another clanging of change; another torn receipt,
Another mumbled thank you and small smile as you go.
Half empty mugs hold your last traces, a final legacy
Only to be swept up and replaced by another face,
One more coffee order.


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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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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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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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Block.

I miss writing. It used to be that a pencil never left my hand, that ideas always fled into my head. I’d write whenever I could find time, and whenever I didn’t really have time too. Characters, plots, journeys and worlds would flood from my mind and spill onto paper, filling page after page of the cheap notebooks I bought from the store. I loved building a  story until it almost become a world around me, with most nights spent scribbling down everything I could think of until I could get my characters to the end of their adventure. I miss the thrill of new ideas, the hours spent in the corners of libraries and cafés planning and the satisfaction of finishing.

These days, there’s not enough time, not enough energy. School builds walls around my daydreams, reminding me of my responsibility to do well, of the importance of my future, while all the time my mind scurries like a bird trapped in a cage, willing to escape from studying for subjects I care nothing for. And as all this is happening, a greater wall looms above, dark and menacing, blocking any idea from coming to me. I feel trapped, bored, yet too exhausted to make a change.

But I swear, this drift is only temporary, and I will be back. A mind cannot stay trapped forever, and soon the shackles of exams will be broken and I’ll be free to spend hours filling pages with every trace of my thoughts. Soon I can go back to the one thing I love most. And when I get back, maybe the sparks will ignite and ideas will burst back into life, and I can carry on as before; a dreamer.

That’s all I can hope for, for now.