Poetry by Rowan Evans

There are muses we choose—and muses we simply are chosen by.
This poem, Even Still, You Are (My Muse), is an unguarded confession: a testament to loving someone beyond possession, to honoring the ache without letting it rot into bitterness.
It is about distance, devotion, and that stubborn flame that survives even when love must stand quietly, reverently, outside the door.

“Even Still, You Are (My Muse)”
Poetry by Rowan Evans

Even as the distance blooms
like dark velvet between us,
your name still stains my breath —
an unspoken psalm etched in marrow,
a prayer that burns softer
but no less true.

You are still the ghost in every stanza,
the candle smoke rising from my ribs;
each word I spill is a quiet offering,
salted with longing but untainted by envy,
a testament that love can ache
without turning to ash.

Though you’ve given your dawn
to someone else’s horizon,
my pen still bends toward you
like a dying flower toward light —
wilted perhaps, yet stubborn in its devotion.

I will not let this ache sour into bitterness,
will not curse the distance
nor envy the hands that hold you;
for you remain —
my cathedral of ruin and rapture,
my muse, even still.

Every breath I draw writes you deeper,
every silence between heartbeats
echoes your name;
and if my words must bruise me
to keep you alive in them,
then let them.

For love, when true, does not demand;
it simply becomes —
a quiet, stubborn flame
flickering in the hollow of the chest,
even when the night feels endless.

Even still, you are —
the marrow of my ink,
the shadow on my pulse,
the ache I choose,
the muse I will not forsake.

✒ Author’s Note

Some muses remain, not because they stay beside us—but because they become the marrow of every word we write.
This piece came from that quiet, painful knowing: that love doesn’t always need to be returned to remain true.
Even when hearts drift apart, some connections still live on in ink and breath.
I offer this poem as both confession and blessing—to all who still carry someone in silence, with grace rather than envy.

✧ Closing Note ✧

If you, too, have a muse who lingers in your shadows and syllables—whether they stayed, left, or never truly belonged—know that your devotion does not diminish your strength.
Feel free to share your thoughts, reflections, or even your own verses in the comments below.
I would love to read the stories your ink still dares to carry.

Thank you for letting my words find you.
— Rowan 🖋🖤

🔗 You May Also Like 🔗
My Only Muse – Then & Now

Check out more in The Library of Ashes!