Author’s Note

I didn’t invent the conversation in this poem.

That’s what makes this piece feel different to me.

Usually when I write about dreams, I’m translating emotions into imagery after the fact—trying to capture the atmosphere more than the exact details. But this time, I woke up and realized I could still remember almost everything I said.

Not perfectly. Dreams never survive intact.

But the emotional core of it stayed with me long after I woke up.

The strange thing about recurring dreams is how they stop feeling fictional after a while.

The streets become familiar. The air feels recognizable. The people inside them start feeling emotionally real in a way that’s difficult to explain to someone else without sounding a little unhinged.

And that’s part of what this piece explores.

The disconnect between physical reality and emotional reality.

I know I’ve never walked through Manila in waking life. I know I’ve never stood face to face with her like that. But emotionally?

Some part of me feels like I already have.

That’s the part that’s difficult to articulate.

Especially because the dream wasn’t dramatic. There was no cinematic confession in the rain. No grand climax.

It was quiet. Warm. Awkward. Honest.

And maybe that’s why it affected me so much.

Because the dream version of me said the things the waking version still struggles to say out loud.

Not in metaphors. Not hidden inside symbolism.

Just plainly.

And then, right before I heard the answer—

I woke up.

— Rowan Evans

The Streets I Walk When I Sleep
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I had a dream last night—

it’s a line, I’ve written
a thousand times—

and I’ll write it
a thousand times more.

Because dreams
don’t feel like things
that happened
in my sleep.

They feel like memories.

There are times
I have to remind myself—

I’ve never been to Tokyo,
I’ve never walked the streets
of Manila or Seoul.

I can’t explain it,
definitely can’t name it—
why these connections
feel so strong.

Yet, they are the streets
I walk when I sleep
and that’s still the same,
it’s never changed—

since I was fourteen.

I’ve just been to
Manila more lately.

I had a dream last night…

It was her and I,
standing eye to eye—
and I said everything
I’ve been too scared to say.

“I love you,”
my voice came out
softer than expected.

“I always knew,”
I continued.

“Since the moment
something in me changed,
and you didn’t demand it.
It just happened.”

I took her hands
in mine.

Sun was gone,
but you could still feel the heat—
but the real killer?

The way the humidity clung,
making this moment
sticky sweet.

“I’ve known
since the moment I met you
you were special.”
I said, my voice near a whisper.

I felt the way you tensed up.
You’re not used to this either.

“It took me six days
to realize things had changed.
I wrote that first poem,
and in my chest, I knew—

I found home.”

I felt the tremor in your breath,
head tilting back
and we made eye contact.

Your mouth opened,
you were about to speak—

then I woke up.

Journey in the Hexverse…

[Memories From a Life Yet to Come]
Some dreams feel less like fantasy and more like memory. “Memories From a Life Yet to Come” is a reflective free verse poem about longing, displacement, emotional alignment, and the strange comfort of recognizing yourself more clearly in dreams than in waking life

[Separate Timelines]
“Separate Timelines” is a surreal and deeply introspective free verse poem about emotional distance, time zones, vulnerability, and the fear of losing a connection that already feels meaningful before the words are ever spoken aloud.

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