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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: dreamscape

  • If I Choose You – A Gothic Romantic Vignette by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    “Every heartbeat spoke it before my lips: I choose you, and no one else shall have this part of me.”

    Author’s Note

    This piece was born from a dream—a quiet, suspended moment that lingered in my chest long after waking. It is a reflection on the delicate intensity of choosing someone wholly, without expectation, without reservation. A confession whispered under the weight of night and the hush of possibility.

    Two silhouetted figures walking side by side under a moonlit, rain-kissed street, evoking intimacy and gothic romantic dreamscape.
    “In the hush of night, every step, every glance, carries the weight of choosing someone entirely.”

    If I Choose You
    Vignette by Rowan Evans

    We were walking—
    not speaking, not really—
    just drifting side by side through the night,
    the air thick with warmth,
    heavy with the scent of earth and rain‑kissed leaves.
    Somewhere distant, somewhere familiar,
    but not a place that needed naming.

    Occasionally, one of us would brush against the other.
    A touch so light it barely registered,
    yet electric enough to make the air hum between us.
    A glance stolen, a heartbeat shared—
    then the silence reclaimed its space.

    The world seemed suspended,
    breath held in a fragile pause.
    Streetlights flickered like candle flames,
    and shadows clung to corners as if listening.

    Eventually, she slowed.
    Then stopped.
    I followed suit, pressing my back to a rough wall,
    its coolness grounding me,
    though it did nothing to steady my racing chest.

    She stood a few steps away,
    hands brushing against her thighs,
    eyes cast down for a heartbeat
    before they lifted and caught mine.

    Time stuttered.
    The night folded in on itself.
    Everything—light, air, sound—paused,
    as though the universe itself had exhaled
    and then forgotten how to resume.

    She spoke then, haltingly,
    words fragmented, ephemeral,
    soft as the hush of moth wings.
    I caught only the edges of meaning
    and had to ask her to repeat them,
    to make sure I had heard correctly
    what my soul already knew.

    Her eyes held me—
    dark pools glinting with moonlight and shadow—
    and in that gaze,
    I felt the weight of unspoken things
    pressing against my ribs.
    The pulse of the world slowed,
    and the air shimmered with quiet danger,
    like the night was daring me
    to speak what my heart had been guarding.

    I swallowed hard.
    Once. Twice.
    And the words emerged,
    soft but unwavering,
    a vow pulled from the marrow of me:

    “If I choose you…
    really choose you…
    that’s it.
    No one else gets that part of me.
    Not again.
    Not ever.”

    Each syllable burned with truth,
    lighting the dark corners of my chest,
    and I felt the gravity of it
    as if the universe itself had tilted toward her,
    bearing witness.

    She lingered in the hush,
    silent, processing,
    as if the meaning needed to seep through her bones
    before it could reach her lips.
    Not closed off, not distant,
    just slow—patient, like a storm gathering
    before it breaks in rain.

    I waited.
    The night waited with me.
    Every leaf, every shadow,
    every distant hum of a world still moving
    echoed the ache
    of what might, perhaps, have been ours.

    And then the dream loosened its grip.
    The edges frayed.
    I woke,
    chest tight, heart full,
    with the weight of absence pressing down,
    not sorrow, not fear,
    but the unmistakable ache of something
    almost—almost—touched,
    almost held,
    yet still out of reach.

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

  • The Moment I Realized (Under Manila’s Setting Sun) – A Confession of Love and Clarity | Rowan Evans Vignette

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This vignette came from a dream — one that felt more like a memory than imagination.
    It was the kind of dream that lingers, that shakes something loose inside you.
    In it, I said the things I’ve always felt but never found the words for — until now.

    Under Manila’s setting sun, I realized that love doesn’t always begin with desire.
    Sometimes it begins with safety. With the unguarded honesty of being seen.

    This piece is the beating heart behind today’s earlier reflection, The Fear of No Fear at All. Together, they form a diptych — one written from the soul’s silence, and the other from the soul’s awakening.

    Two people sitting together overlooking Manila at sunset, bathed in golden light.
    Sometimes, love arrives quietly — beneath a sky that remembers everything you were too afraid to say.

    The Moment I Realized (Under Manila’s Setting Sun)
    Vignette by Rowan Evans

    The city stretched beneath us, a labyrinth of light and shadow.
    The sun hovered at the horizon, bleeding gold across the skyline.
    We sat in silence, letting the wind carry our thoughts,
    letting the world pause, just for this moment.

    I looked at her and couldn’t help but smile.
    She noticed, tilted her head, gave me that small, questioning look.
    “What?” she said, softly.

    I breathed.
    I hesitated.
    And then I let it spill.

    I spoke softly, careful not to burden, careful not to break,
    “don’t take this as pressure, because that is the last thing I want—
    but I have to be honest.”

    The words trembled between us.
    “Our connection… our friendship… it scares me.”

    Not fear like a shadow crawling across your skin,
    not fear like a storm that makes a child tremble—
    no. This fear is different.
    It is the absence of fear.
    With you, I am everything I am meant to be,
    and that… that is what scares me.

    “You have changed my poetry,” I whispered,
    “the way I write… it’s different now.
    It’s real. I’ve never written about anyone the way I write about you.
    Nobody has touched my art, my heart, my soul—
    like you have.”

    I paused, swallowed the weight of the truth.

    “I mean… I’ve had crushes before, but this… this is something else. Something deeper.
    You, without trying, made me realize I’ve never been in love.
    You, without needing to do anything but exist in my life,
    made me want to be better.
    And I… I want to give you the world.
    Because you deserve nothing less than the best.
    Whether it’s with me, or with someone else…
    anything less is unacceptable in my eyes.”

    The silence returned, heavy and beautiful.
    I don’t remember her words after that.
    All I remember is the city, the sun, and that quiet realization:

    fuck.
    I really love her.
    This is real.
    And I will never be the same again.

  • Nocturnal Crossing – Neo-Gothic Confessional Romanticism by Rowan Evans | Dark Romantic Poetry

    Rowan Evans

    ✦ Author’s Note ✦

    There is a strange sanctity in sleep—the quiet surrender where worlds fold into each other, where hearts separated by oceans can meet in the hush of night. This piece is a liturgy for those encounters, the nightly pilgrimages to a shared dreamscape. In this realm, distance dissolves, and the pulse of longing becomes the rhythm of devotion. Let these words be a bridge between the waking world and the sanctuary of dreams.

    Shadowy figures reaching across a silver moonlit ocean – illustration for Nocturnal Crossing poem.
    Nocturnal Crossing – a neo-gothic exploration of love, longing, and dream-bound devotion by Rowan Evans.

    ✦ Invocation ✦

    Come, children of moonlight and tide,
    step softly into the hours where reality frays,
    where the air tastes of salt and shadow,
    and silver fingers of night brush your skin.
    Let the night cradle you,
    its soft hum and velvet rustle weaving paths across oceans,
    drawing us together beneath stars that shimmer like cold fire.
    Breathe with me the brine-wet air,
    feel the pull of another soul
    even when miles of water shimmer between us,
    and hear the lull of waves like whispered secrets.

    Nocturnal Crossing
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I slip past the clock, past the walls of day,
    where moonlight drips like ink over silvered bay,
    and salt tangs the air, heavy on my tongue.
    The ocean waits, a vast, cold divide,
    but nightly I sail where your shadows hide,
    and the hush hums softly like a ghostly song.

    In waking hours, the tide keeps you away,
    distance carved like a cathedral of gray.
    Yet sleep is a bridge, a haunted parade,
    where fog curls softly, damp and scented with brine,
    and darkness sways, a slow, breathing veil.

    Your voice drifts through the chambered night,
    a ghostly hymn, pale lanterns in flight.
    I reach for the echo of your trembling hands,
    tide-bound in life, yet together we stand,
    fingertips brushing the mist like feathers of shadow.

    The stars spin slow, like dancers in lace,
    tracing the curve of your dream-lit face.
    Every sigh a hymn, every blink a key,
    unlocking the hours where only you meet me,
    the night humming faintly under our tethered breaths.

    Our bodies unmade, yet memory sings,
    the hush of your breath, the tilt of your wings.
    Velvet tides pull us under, pull us near,
    currents of shadow whispering that you’re here,
    the brine of your absence sweet on my lips.

    Every night, I dive through the velvet seam,
    where shadows and saltwater merge in a dream.
    The moon is a lantern, the sky a cathedral,
    and I cross the waves to your phantom, ethereal,
    hearing the distant crackle of star-fire above.

    The stars trace your face like ink on my skin,
    every sigh a prayer, every blink a sin.
    And when I awake, the ocean roars,
    its briny scent heavy in the morning air,
    but in dreams, I hold you on moonlit shores.

    I wait for the night with fevered eyes,
    for the hush of your laughter, the drift of skies,
    the faint taste of salt and shadow on my tongue.
    Though oceans are cruel and daylight steals,
    in dreams, I am yours, and the dark reveals.

    ✦ Benediction ✦

    May your dreams carry you gently across the seas,
    where longing dissolves into the hush of night,
    and the cool press of moonlight guides your steps.
    May the scent of salt and the brush of shadow
    lead you to the soul you seek,
    and when the sun awakens the world,
    may you rest in the quiet warmth of remembered touch,
    the hush of tides still echoing in your chest,
    knowing that in the sacred hours
    you are never truly apart,
    and the pulse of devotion lingers on your skin.

    Journey into the Hexverse

    If the hush of night lingers with you, if the pulse of devotion and quiet longing still hums in your chest, wander further into these chambers of ink and flame:

    To Be Near Your Flame | Rowan Evans
    A haunting meditation on love, longing, and the quiet courage of staying close to the one who sets your heart ablaze. Includes a benediction for connection and devotion.

    Penguin Pebbling | Roo the Poet
    A delicate, heartwarming poem celebrating the small treasures of love and the quiet moments that linger in our hearts.

    Litany of Shelter | Rowan Evans
    A quiet vow in four lines: I may not stop the rain, but I can be your shelter.

    13 Riddles for the Starborn Child | Roo the Poet
    These 13 moonlit riddles are not meant to be solved, but to gently unravel you. Roo the Poet—the child of my mythos—wanders barefoot through dreams, gathering starlight and scattering questions like wildflower seeds.

    Step lightly. Let the words fold around you. Let them hold you as the night holds us all.