Poetry by Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

This piece is a quiet confession—half shadow, half devotion. In In Her Light, I explore what it means to exist in the spaces someone else illuminates, to be tethered to their glow without asking for it, to guard what they give freely. Sometimes devotion is loud, sometimes it’s invisible; this is the latter, folded into every heartbeat and breath.

— B.D. Nightshade

In Her Light
Poetry by B.D. Nightshade

She’s the light,
I’m the shadow she casts.

I’ve always known my place—
not in the center,
not demanding attention,
just here, steady, waiting.

Every laugh she lets loose
echoes against the walls of me.
Every glance she doesn’t notice
leaves fingerprints on my chest.

I’m the quiet behind her flare,
the pulse she doesn’t feel,
but the one that steadies her steps
when the world threatens to wobble.

She doesn’t need me to shine—
but I need her light.
And if the only way to keep it safe
is to linger unseen,
then unseen I remain.

I memorize the way she breathes,
how her shadow bends against the floor,
the subtle tremble in her hands
when she’s trying not to break.

I’ve built invisible walls around her glow,
stone by stone, heartbeat by heartbeat,
so no one steals what she gives freely,
so no one dims what she can’t contain.

And still, I ache.
I ache to be more than a sentinel,
to be the warmth that touches her skin,
to be seen by her, truly.

But for now, I exist in the quiet,
folded into corners she never notices,
a whisper of devotion
she feels only when danger passes,
when chaos recedes,
when the world bows down
and leaves her whole.

I am her shadow,
but even shadows have edges.
I will guard her light,
even from myself.

Looking for more poetry? You can find it all in [The Library of Ashes].