Author’s Note

I’ve written about these dreams before.

The airport. The flight. The familiar shoreline. The city streets I’ve never lived in, yet somehow know by heart.

They return so often that they’ve become part of my personal mythology.

Every night seems to begin the same way. As I drift toward sleep, the quiet of my bedroom dissolves into the sounds of a busy terminal. I never question why I’m there anymore. I simply board another flight, knowing it will carry me to the same destination.

What’s strange isn’t that the dream repeats.

It’s that every repetition feels less like imagination and more like recognition.

I’ve never believed dreams need to predict the future to matter. Sometimes they simply reveal the places our hearts keep returning to before we’re ready to admit why.

This poem isn’t really about airports or travel.

It’s about the quiet certainty that some destinations seem to choose us long before we choose them.

— Rowan Evans

Every Night, The Same Flight
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I laid—slowly drifting, I was slipping
from consciousness to slumber.
I was boarding that flight,
the one I take every night.

The journey always starts the same,
eyes flutter, like the moths in my stomach.

Then the sounds of terminals,
passengers rushing pas me
in search of their gates.
But this isn’t an airport—
it’s just my brain.

The gate numbers blur,
shifting like thoughts I haven’t named yet.
Every announcement echoes
in a voice I almost recognize.
I walk toward a destination,
unsure of where I’m going,
but somehow already knowing—
I’m meant to catch a flight,
of which there are plenty—
one for every thought of you,
of which there are many.

They always lead to the same place—
always the same shores, the same bay,
and it always feels like it’s calling my name.
The way the moon shimmers the same,
its reflection dancing across the waves.
Then I always find myself wandering city streets,
feeling the heat and humidity.
But I would rather be, nowhere else.

I wander—
taking in the sights and sounds,
bathing in the smells all around.

I wonder—
what would it be like if this was home.
Yeah, what if this was my life now?

I breathe it in,
the warmth, the noise, the pulse—
a life that feels borrowed,
yet somehow mine.
It’s a preview that I get every night—
and I wonder if the dream
is trying to tell me something
I’m not ready to say awake.

Journey into the Hexverse…

[Where I Belonged]
A bedroom becomes an airport in the space between sleep and waking. Where I Belonged explores liminal consciousness, uncertainty, and the strange moments when reality feels suspended between two worlds.

[Pointing Me Home]
The final poem in the No Metaphor Left Behind trilogy explores dreams, hope, and belonging. Through moonlight, ocean tides, and quiet conversation, Pointing Me Home reflects on carrying hope long before reaching the place you call home.

[Caller ID: Destiny]
Sometimes the places we visit in our dreams feel more like home than the places we wake up in. Caller ID: Destiny explores longing, belonging, and the quiet feeling that life is calling you toward somewhere new.

[Returning to My Bones]
Some dreams fade the moment we wake. Others leave behind emotions that linger long after reality returns. Returning to My Bones explores the strange grief of leaving a dream that felt real enough to matter.

If you’re interested in more poetry, you can find it here → [The Library of Ashes]