Poetry by Rowan Evans

I need to say this—
and the only way I know how
is through poetry,
so I’ll just write it,
bare my chest of words,
let them spill like ink.

I care for you,
as more than a friend—
I thought I made that obvious,
thought you could read it in the way I am,
but maybe I need to speak it louder now.

Let’s take a moment—
a refresher of the truth I hold for you.
I accept you—
fully, without question.
You’re my muse,
and I’ll always be here for you—
I think I’ve shown you that.
In all the quiet spaces between us,
I’ve carved a place for you.

I know I don’t have much to give—
maybe just empathy,
a listening ear when the world’s too loud,
and poetry,
so much poetry,
but I’m too nervous to share it directly.
It never feels like the right time,
so I offer it here,
hoping you’ll see me,
hoping you’ll understand.

I’ve never felt this before—
never carried the weight of someone else’s joy
so heavily on my heart.
Every thought returns to you—
your happiness outweighing mine.
I didn’t expect this—
didn’t plan for it,
but now, I wouldn’t trade it.
I’m glad I found you in the quiet.

You probably don’t know
how hard this is for me—
to open this door,
to let you see the parts of me
I’ve buried deep.
It’s been a long time
since I’ve bared my heart,
but vulnerability comes easier now,
with time, with growth—
still, I choke on these words.
They sit heavy in my chest,
too scared to break free.

So here I am,
writing again,
hoping these words find their way to you,
hoping they reach your heart.

You’ve become the heartbeat in my chest,
the current in my river’s flow—
a pulse that steadies trembling hands,
a force that moves the depths below.

You are the breath before the storm,
the calm that soothes my raging sea.
A spark that blooms in darkest nights,
the light that pulls the best from me.

I carry pieces of you in my quiet thoughts,
in fleeting smiles, in tender dreams.
You linger like a haunting song—
a melody woven through my seams.

I remember the way your laughter spilled into the air,
like sunlight breaking through a storm.
The quiet conversations we shared,
where words felt like sacred things between us.
In those moments, I felt something shift—
something I didn’t know I was looking for.

And though I fear these words may break,
like fragile glass within my chest,
I’d rather shatter in truth
than bear the weight of the unsaid.

So I speak it now, without regret—
You matter more than you could know.
And should you hold these words in doubt,
just feel the warmth in their echo.

If all you can offer is friendship,
I’ll hold it close,
let it grow—
for what we share,
it means more than I could explain.
And maybe, in time,
you’ll come to know.