Storm in a teacup

The eyes are the windows to the soul. Beauty lies in the eye of the beholder. When a woman is talking, listen to what she says with her eyes. Where words are restrained, the eyes often talk a great deal.. I could go on with the cliche bullshit we see on insta daily, but for a while now I've been privy to a secret, the eyes portray nothing more than we choose give away. People say that the eyes hold the tale, the soul, everything we are. This is bollocks, they are equally as deceiving as the smile upon the face. I've always loved my eyes personally, it is possibly the only part of me I am actually okay with (despite one young man informing me in school that they were 'buggy and freaked him out' cheers mo!) , and for years I've said my eyes give me away - in some aspects they do. When I've had a bit of a meltdown at work its near on impossible to not spot the redness. However, they do not, in any way begin to portray a spec of my timeline. Not a morsel of the a...

It feels weird to call you a friend, when really all I know of you is your name and your music, however it feels weird to call you a stranger when you know so much of me. It feels weird that one gesture may invoke a thousand feelings, a thousand thoughts. It feels weird that I thought maybe I was just someone that fitted the mould at the time, and was forgotten as fast as I was found. I know now that I made an impact. It feels weird that I could mean something to someone who was almost a stranger. It's a weird situation when you are writing to someone other than your beloved about so many feelings dwelling within you. Truthfully, it feels weird, because I thought I had put down the pen, (or the laptop to be precise) as I had reached the pivotal moment when my life became all I had wanted it to be, to had reached happiness, only to be inspired by someone who had honestly had become a person I once had a fleeting interaction with. Turns out I was wrong about who I am, and how t...