Author’s Note

Some people leave, but their weather stays.
This poem is not about loss—it is about endurance, memory,
and the quiet strength it takes to remain standing
when the storm remembers everything.

I Am the Storm That Remembers
Poetry by Rowan Evans

Everyone comes into our lives for a reason,
but some are only meant for a season.
Then the weather changes,
and they begin to drift.
It may not hit like an immediate shift,
it may slowly unfold and fade.

Yet even as they go,
their footprints linger,
like sunlight caught in the corner of a room,
warm but unreachable.

For me, memories swirl
like storm clouds roiling overhead,
thunder rolling through my chest,
lightning flashing their faces,
voices cutting through the wind—
too sharp to ignore, too loud to forget.

I try to run.
I try to close the windows,
pull the shutters tight.
But the storm is patient.
It seeps through cracks,
slips under doors,
lingers in the spaces I thought I’d cleared.

Rain falls in shards,
drenches my quiet moments,
washes over laughter I can’t recover,
drowns the footprints of the ones who left.
And yet, in the chaos,
there is a strange kind of clarity:
the storm remembers,
and so do I.

I wish I could let it go,
to be like them—
so quick to forget,
so light in the sun.
But I am not.
I am the storm’s echo,
the residue of seasons past,
and somehow, I carry their weight
and my own,
and I am still here,
breathing,
walking,
storm-beaten but alive.

If you’re looking for more poetry, you can find it here: [The Library of Ashes]