Author’s Note

I’d been stuck in my head for days—looping memories, fogged thoughts, the usual spiral.

Then I had a dream.

In it, someone I care deeply about cut through the noise in the bluntest, most effective way possible. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t poetic. But it worked.

This poem came from that moment—the realization that sometimes the way forward isn’t overthinking, but following the one thread that still feels steady.

Even through the fog.

The Thread That Led Me Home
Poetry by Rowan Evans

The fog rolls over hills,
and a chill clings
to my mind.
Memories linger
in flickering fragments,
clinging static—
the kind that hums
behind the eyes,
buzzing with moments
I thought I buried
but never really left.

They circle back—
whispers caught
between stations,
half-formed voices
I almost recognize
but can’t quiet name.
Threads of memory
tangled in the mist,
pulling me back
to places
I never meant to revisit.

I stumble through playgrounds,
bumping off walls
as I march down the hall.
A single thread,
I’ve begun to follow—
It leads through memory,
after memory.
Twisting and turning,
it knots—
and I pause,
fingers trembling
over the tangle,
wondering what unravels
if I pull too hard.

I run fingers
over threads.
Gripping soft,
pulling slow—
I watch
as the string
slips free—
and it hums,
like it’s guiding me.

So I follow.

Step after step,
one foot
in front
of the other.
I step and stumble
through fog,
thick as my thoughts.
And when
I feel lost,
my fingers tighten
grabbing the string
like a lifeline.
It’s the only guide
through my mind.

I stumble through,
snapping twigs
and branches.
The rustle of
rotting leaves
under feet,
until I see it.
A light,
a clearing.
And when I reach it,
when I find
the strings conclusion—
what do I see?

You.
A smile.
Home.

Closing Note

Yesterday’s poem was about the weight of memory. This one is about the moment something — or someone — breaks through that weight. Not to fix it, not to erase it, but to remind me that I don’t have to walk through the fog alone.

Journey into the Hexverse

[Memory Lane Has No Exit]
With my birthday approaching, I found myself trapped inside my mind—wandering memory lane, revisiting love, loss, and the moments that built me. This poem is a reflection on betrayal, survival, and the quiet realization that drifting isn’t the same as healing.

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