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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: hope

  • Sunflower Eyes: A Poem of Devotion, Longing, and Love by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem is a reflection on devotion, longing, and the quiet strength of love that stretches across distance. Using the imagery of a sunflower—rooted yet reaching, bending yet unbroken—I explore the way our hearts orient themselves toward those who bring light into our lives. It’s a meditation on hope, patience, and the silent pull of someone who becomes our constant, our compass, and our sunlight.

    Golden sunflower in a sunlit field, petals bending toward the sunlight at sunrise.
    Sunflower Eyes — rooted in hope, reaching for the light, a meditation on love and devotion.

    Sunflower Eyes
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Like a sunflower,
    always searching for golden rays.
    My eyes move, always,
    in search of your face.

    Even in the quiet moments,
    when petals fold in sleep,
    my gaze drifts across the distance,
    finding you in the small sparks
    that linger at the edges of the world.

    My roots sink deep,
    anchored in the soil of memory and hope,
    but my head, my heart,
    will always sway toward you,
    bending and bowing, yet never breaking.

    I yearn for the warmth
    that only your presence gives,
    each glance a sunbeam
    piercing through the shadowed field
    where I sometimes forget my own strength.

    Seasons shift and skies fade,
    but I follow the orbit of your light,
    spinning in silent devotion,
    even when the sun hides behind clouds.

    I bloom in the hope of your eyes,
    and in the quiet ache of waiting,
    I stretch ever upward,
    a golden blaze against the sky—
    your face, my sunlight,
    my constant, my compass,
    my forever.

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

  • Gothic Christmas – A Neo-Gothic Confessional Poem by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem was born from the quiet moments between winter’s chill and candlelight, where shadows linger and hearts search for warmth. Gothic Christmas is my meditation on light and darkness coexisting—how even in cold, silent streets, a flicker of hope can endure. It is for those who find beauty in the night, who embrace the melancholic as much as the joyous, and who believe that love and light can exist even in the most shadowed corners.

    Lone figure kneeling by a candle on a snowy gothic street at night, with spires and shadows in the background.
    A flicker of hope shines in the gothic winter night.

    Gothic Christmas
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    In the heart of winter’s embrace, 
    Where shadows linger in every space, 
    A Christmas tale unfolds tonight, 
    In the realm of darkness, devoid of light.

    The moon, a pale and distant gleam, 
    Casts shadows on the icy stream. 
    A lone figure roams the streets, 
    Where silence reigns and coldness meets.

    Gothic spires against the sky, 
    Reach for heaven, where angels fly. 
    But in these streets, no joyous cheer, 
    Only whispers of a darker fear.

    Beneath the eaves of ancient stone, 
    The windswept trees their branches moan. 
    Through cobbled lanes and narrow ways, 
    A figure in the darkness strays.

    No merry carols fill the air, 
    No laughter heard, no spirit rare. 
    Only the echo of footsteps light, 
    Through the haunted, silent night.

    But in a corner, dim and cold, 
    A flicker of candle, ancient and old. 
    A figure kneels in silent prayer, 
    Amidst the shadows, deep despair.

    For Christmas here is not the same, 
    In this gothic land of ancient fame. 
    But in the heart, a flicker, too, 
    A flame of hope, both old and new.

    For in the darkness, cold and stark, 
    There beats a heart, a tiny spark. 
    A whisper soft, a promise true, 
    Of light and love, for me and you.

    So in this gothic Christmas night, 
    Amidst the shadows, cold and white, 
    Let’s hold onto that flicker bright, 
    And dream of morning’s gentle light.

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

  • For the Youth: A Poetic Call to Rise, Shine, and Ignite

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    For the Youth is a whisper to every young heart, everywhere—an urging to rise, to shine, to ignite your own fire. Across continents and cultures, no matter where you stand, your voice is a spark, your truth a flame. May this poem remind you that even in the shadows, you are the light, the dreamers, the revolution in motion.

    Young people standing on hilltops at sunrise, arms raised, bathed in warm light, symbolizing hope and empowerment.
    Rise, shine, ignite—the youth hold the power to light the world.

    For the Youth
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    To the youth of the world, hear this whispering call,
    You are the dawn breaking, the rise after the fall.
    Embrace your truth, let it shimmer, let it shine,
    Rise, shine, ignite—your spirit divine.

    Stand tall like mountains, unyielding and grand,
    Let your voices ring out, a wild, fierce band.
    Be loud, be proud, let your colors unfurl,
    Rise, shine, ignite—the dreamers of the world.

    Your light is a beacon in shadows so stark,
    A flame in the darkness, igniting the spark.
    Don’t let whispers of doubt cast their pall,
    Rise, shine, ignite—you will not fall.

    In gardens of chaos, you bloom and you fight,
    Petals of courage dispelling the night.
    See your worth, young hearts, let it echo and soar,
    Rise, shine, ignite—the poets, and more.

    Know there’s room for growth, like trees reaching high,
    Roots deep in the earth, branches in the sky.
    Your journey is sacred, each step is your song,
    Rise, shine, ignite—you’ve always belonged.

    So rise from the ashes, let your dreams take flight,
    Illuminate the world with your radiant light.
    You are the change, the revolution’s embrace,
    Rise, shine, ignite—a fearless face.

    To the youth of the world, this message I send:
    Your hearts are the compass, your voices the trend.
    Embrace your own truth, let it blaze and alight,
    Rise, shine, ignite—turn darkness to light.

    If you are interested in reading more of my work, you can find the full archive in The Library of Ashes.

  • Temporary Emotions: A Poem on Depression, Healing & Hope

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    I’m writing this for myself as much as for anyone else. Depression is a beast that convinces me not to exist, that twists my sadness into rage and makes even the smallest things unbearable. I need this reminder: these feelings are heavy, but they are not permanent.

    Right now, I’m in the thick of depression—the kind that makes everything feel heavier than it should, the kind that tells you nothing will ever change. It’s a hell of a beast, whispering permanence into what I know are only temporary storms.

    This poem is me fighting back against that lie. A reminder to myself that emotions are not stone; they are waves. They crash, they recede, they come again—but none of them last forever.

    If you’re reading this and carrying something heavy too, know that you’re not alone in it. These are temporary emotions. Even when it feels impossible to believe, the tide does turn.

    A surreal twilight garden with lanterns and dark roses, symbolizing depression and the fleeting nature of emotions.
    Even the heaviest emotions are temporary—like shadows, they fade with the dawn.

    Temporary Emotions
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    In the garden of feelings, where shadows bend and sway,
    Petals of joy and sorrow bloom, then fall away.
    A riot of colors, fleeting, alive—
    Whispers of truth hum beneath the hive.

    Emotions are lanterns, trembling with light,
    Flickering through darkness, fragile as night.
    They waver, they vanish, dissolve in the air—
    Here for a heartbeat, then gone without care.

    Do not carve choices in unyielding stone
    When tides of the heart shift and pull you alone.
    Bend, stumble, sway, but do not yield—
    Even shadows retreat when dawn is revealed.

    Feelings crash like waves on jagged, dreaming shores;
    Grief gnaws the marrow, hope rises and soars.
    Night bows to dawn in its ghostly fire,
    Ash gives way to a tender desire.

    Though emotions may bind with chains cold and tight,
    Time’s patient fingers restore your sight.
    Let them flow like rivers in spring—
    Do not dam the heart; let truth take wing.

    Seek a friend, a page, a mirror to speak,
    Pour your pulse into ink, let your spirit leak.
    Feelings, like seasons, shimmer, then flee;
    The storm may roar, but it teaches to be.

    Step into the tide, feel its swell and its pull;
    The ebb is as sacred as the full.
    Remember, dear heart, this gentle decree:
    All that you feel will one day set you free.

    In this shifting garden, where shadows and sun entwine,
    Each fleeting heartbeat can burn, can shine.
    Ride the currents, let the day sway—
    Tomorrow blooms anew in its spectral ballet.

    Closing Note

    If you’re reading this and carrying the same weight, know this: we don’t have to conquer the beast today. We just have to outlast it. These storms will pass, and when they do, we’ll still be here—tired, maybe, but alive. And sometimes, that is enough.

  • You’re Not Alone | Rowan Evans — A Poetic Promise of Hope & Support

    Rowan Evans

    🌒 Invocation
    For the Wounded and Weary

    Come, you who ache quietly,
    you who carry grief like a second skin.
    Enter this space —
    not to be fixed,
    but to be witnessed.
    This is not a cure,
    but a candle.
    Let it flicker for you.

    Pastel sunrise breaking through grey clouds over a misty landscape, symbolizing hope and solace.
    Hope shines brightest through the darkest clouds — ‘You’re Not Alone,’ a poem by Rowan Evans.

    You’re Not Alone
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    In the pastel shades of a world painted grey,
    I see you standing, lost, in the fray.
    When the weight of your sorrow feels too much to bear,
    Know I’m here with you, always, I swear.

    Through the storms that rage, the endless rain,
    When your heart feels heavy, suffocated by pain,
    I’ll be your shelter, your place to rest,
    When you feel you’ve given all, I’ll give my best.

    You’re not alone in this shadowed night,
    Together we’ll chase away the fear, ignite the light.
    For every tear that falls, I’ll catch it in my hand,
    And plant a seed of hope where despair used to stand.

    When the world feels too sharp, too jagged to touch,
    And even breathing feels like asking too much,
    Know that I’m here, a whisper, a friend,
    A quiet presence with an ear to lend.

    I’ll shoulder your pain, take some of the load,
    Walk beside you on this harrowing road.
    When the clouds seem too thick and the sun’s lost its glow,
    Remember my voice, my promise: you’re not alone.

    In the darkest hours when your soul feels small,
    I’ll be in your corner, catch you when you fall.
    For even when you feel you’re at the end of your fight,
    I’ll be the flame that rekindles your light.

    So, lean on me, friend, and trust in this bond,
    We’ll walk through the rain, from dusk until dawn.
    Together, we’ll face whatever may come,
    You’re not alone—you’re never on your own.

    🌓 Benediction
    For the Ones Still Holding On

    Go now with the knowing:
    You are not too much.
    You are not too broken.
    You are not alone.
    And even when your hands shake,
    you are still worthy of being held.
    Let the poem walk with you awhile.

    Read Next (Suggestions)

    [Tip the Chair] — Neo-Gothic Confessional Poem
    [The Gospel According to the Girl in the Graveyard Dress] — Neo-Gothic Confessional Poem
    [The Hopeless Romantic Wears Armor] — Neo-Gothic Confessional Romanticism Poem
    [Luminescence &  Shadow: A Forbidden Litany] — A Neo-Gothic Confessional Narrative Poem
    [A-Woman (Confessional at the Altar of Her)] — A Neo-Gothic Confessional Romanticism Poem

    Or explore the full archive in [The Library of Ashes]—and if your own confession aches to be written, [commission a custom poem here].

    NGCR25 at checkout to get 25% off your ‘request’…

  • The Vigil of the First Son | Neo-Gothic Confessional Prose by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    ☽ Introduction ☾

    In every myth, there is a shadow cast by a cathedral’s ghost;
    in every son who claims that shadow, a prayer whispered in defiance.
    This is the confessional of a child born of ruin and rebellion—
    sworn not to brokenness, but to the fierce holiness of becoming.
    This is…

    Nighttime illustration of a masked vigilante standing on a cathedral roof, overlooking a cracked yet living city under moonlight; symbolizing hope within ruin.
    A sentinel between shadow and dawn — the First Son’s vigil burns quietly, but it burns still.

    ☽ The Vigil of the First Son ☾
    Prose by Rowan Evans

    I was not born from cathedral shadows—
    I fell from another height, beneath painted canvas and sawdust air,
    where faith meant catching and being caught.

    But the fall came anyway.
    And in the ruin, he found me—
    the Broken Saint, robed in mourning.
    He offered me a name forged from grief,
    and I took it, though my palms still smelled of flight and chalk.

    They call me heir, as if shadow is all I have inherited.
    But gods know, I am more:

    I have bled in these alleys, yes—
    but I have danced on rooftops, too,
    laughter spilling into the bruised dawn,
    a reminder that even vigil can be alive.

    He is the shadow.
    I am the light who learned to love the dark
    without letting it devour me.

    Sometimes guilt creeps in—
    that I can still love where he has walled himself off,
    that I can still smile where he only mourns.

    But hope is rebellion, too—
    a heresy against a city built on scars.

    Tonight, the moon crowns my brow in borrowed silver,
    and Blüdhaven breathes below—cracked, imperfect, alive.

    I watch from these heights:
    a sentinel, a son, still learning.

    I am not him.
    And gods, that is my salvation.

    ☽ Benediction ☾

    May the shadow teach you mercy.
    May your scars be the map to your salvation.
    And though the night will call,
    may your first vigil blaze bright enough to be seen from every dawn.

    🔗 You might also like…

    Every vigil casts its own shadow.
    If The Vigil of the First Son has found a quiet corner in your marrow, you may also wander these chapels of ruin and devotion:

    The Vigil of the Broken Saint — a confession of Gotham’s haunted martyr.
    The Vigil of the Clown Prince — a testament of madness, ruin, and marrow-deep defiance.
    The Vigil of the Twisted Harlequin — scars reborn as rebellion, laughter reclaimed.

    Each is a prayer, a confession, a testament carved in bruise, bone, and breath.
    May you find something of yourself between the shadows and the candlelight.

    If my words speak to you, and you’d like to help keep this flame burning — or if you’d like a custom poem woven just for you (or someone dear) — you can do so here:

    Ko-fi — Poetry by Rowan Evans

  • “To the Ones Who Feel Like Ghosts” — A Poignant Poem on Healing, Hope, and Becoming

    Rowan Evans
    Cover image for the poem ‘To the Ones Who Feel Like Ghosts’ by Shiann. A silhouette of a person in a dark cloak stands against a glowing ocean backdrop, surrounded by soft light. The title and subtitle are written above in gothic font, with the name 'Shiann' across the figure and 'Rowan Evans' credited in the corner.
    For the souls who are still here, even when it hurts.

    🕯️ Featured Guest Poem
    ✨ For the souls who are still here, even when it hurts.

    Some poems arrive like lifelines—woven from truth, pain, grace, and the quiet strength of survival. They don’t offer easy answers, but they do offer space. Space to feel. To breathe. To be reminded that healing is messy, nonlinear, and still… deeply sacred.

    “To the Ones Who Feel Like Ghosts” by Shiann is exactly that kind of poem.

    “I wrote it with the intention to give some kind of guidance, space and hope,” Shiann said. “Because being someone who suffers from mental health issues and trauma, I know how easy it is to get lost when trying to heal. It’s hard, and it can feel like there’s a veil covering the eyes of the soul. But healing doesn’t always have to be painful—it just needs to be honest. And when it’s honest, it’s done with grace.”

    This poem is a sanctuary for anyone who’s ever wondered if they’re too far gone to be found again.
    It’s a reminder that even in the dark, even when we feel like ghosts in our own lives—
    we are still becoming.

    I am deeply honored to feature this as the first-ever guest poem on my blog.
    Let it meet you wherever you are. Let it be a soft place to land.

    “To the Ones Who Feel Like Ghosts”
    for the souls who are still here, even when it hurts

    If you’re reading this with tired eyes,
    barely holding on,
    wondering if the road even leads anywhere—
    this is for you.

    For the ones who feel like life keeps happening
    to them
    instead of with them.
    For the ones who keep giving love
    and getting silence in return.
    For the ones who wake up
    and already feel behind.

    You are not broken.
    You are becoming.

    I know it feels like you’re crumbling.
    Like everything you touch slips through your fingers
    and every breath tastes like defeat.
    But listen closely:

    Some things fall apart
    because they were never meant to hold your becoming.
    You were not made to stay small
    just to make others comfortable.
    You were not made to disappear
    just to survive.

    Your mess does not cancel your magic.
    Your doubt does not erase your worth.
    You can feel lost
    and still be on your path.

    You don’t need to have it all figured out.
    You don’t need to feel good all the time.
    You don’t even need to know where you’re going.
    You just need to keep going.

    Because there is a version of you waiting—
    not perfect, not fixed—
    but free.
    Free from shame.
    Free from the lie that healing must be fast or pretty.
    Free to speak gently to the parts of yourself
    that never heard a kind word.

    So take your time.
    Cry if you need to.
    Start over as many times as it takes.

    Just don’t stop being you.
    Even if you don’t know who that is yet.

    There is peace here,
    not in perfection—
    but in presence.
    In letting yourself exist
    exactly as you are.

    So breathe.
    Rest.
    Begin again.

    You’re not alone.
    And you’re not lost.
    You’re just on your way home.

    🇺🇸 United States

    988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline – Call or text 988
    https://988lifeline.org
    Free, 24/7 support for emotional distress and mental health crises.

    Crisis Text Line – Text HOME to 741741
    https://www.crisistextline.org

    —

    🇬🇧 United Kingdom

    Samaritans – Call 116 123 (free, 24/7)
    https://www.samaritans.org

    —

    🇦🇺 Australia

    Lifeline Australia – Call 13 11 14
    https://www.lifeline.org.au

    Kids Helpline (ages 5–25) – Call 1800 55 1800
    https://www.kidshelpline.com.au

    —

    🇨🇦 Canada

    Talk Suicide Canada – Call 1-833-456-4566 or text 45645
    https://talksuicide.ca

    —

    🇵🇭 Philippines

    Hopeline Philippines
    Call: 0917 558 4673, (02) 8804 4673, or 2919 (toll-free for Globe & TM)
    https://www.hopelineph.com

    —

    🌍 Global

    Befrienders Worldwide – Emotional support in 30+ countries
    https://www.befrienders.org

    Suicide Prevention Wiki (International Hotline Directory)
    https://suicidestop.com/call_a_hotline.html

    If this poem spoke to you, know you’re not alone on your journey. Healing is not a race or a destination, but a series of moments where grace meets courage. May Shiann’s words remind you to breathe, to rest, and to keep moving forward—one step, one breath, one honest moment at a time.

    Thank you for sharing this space with us.

    With respect and gratitude,
    — Rowan Evans
    The Luminous Heretic

    🔗 You Might Also Like…

    The Pilgrim Road Is Not Paved in Gold – A Poem About Healing and Resilience

  • The Hallow Sea – A Poem About Surviving Depression and Numbness

    Rowan Evans

    “The Hollow Sea” is a raw, haunting poem by Rowan Evans that explores the inner landscape of depression, emotional numbness, and suicidal ideation. Written in their signature style of Neo-Gothic Confessional Romanticism, this piece gives voice to the quiet desperation and fragile hope that exist in the same breath. Content warning is provided below. Please read with care—and remember, you are not alone.

    ⚠️ Content Warning:
    This poem explores themes of depression, suicidal ideation, and emotional numbness. Please read with care, and know you are not alone. If you’re struggling, there is help, and there is hope.

    “The Hollow Sea”
    (a poem about surviving when nothing makes sense)

    Here we go—

    I feel like I’m floating,
    Drifting in the hollow sea,
    Sunburnt bones in boiling brine,
    Salt-cracked lips that cease to plea.
    This life is not a gift—it gnaws.
    I’m blistered down to silent flaws.

    I feel like—

    Letting the razor kiss my skin,
    A silver tongue that aches to speak,
    To write in crimson cursive script
    The truths I’m far too shamed to shriek.
    I kiss the barrel—metal bride—
    Salt-streaked face I cannot hide.

    I’m too meek, too weak, too gone,
    A phantom cloaked in half-past dawn.
    I haven’t left my shadowed room—
    Two weeks entombed inside this gloom.

    ‘Cause I—

    Am drifting, lost in zero g’s,
    A marionette with severed strings.
    My feet forget the taste of earth,
    My heart forgets most everything.

    Noose-necked, swinging on a prayer,
    A bruised bouquet of breathless air.
    I’m hoping pain will be the end—
    The final hand, the final bend—
    Yet even as I beg release,
    My lungs betray me, gasping peace.

    My ribs are cathedrals filled with rot,
    My mind—a shrine that time forgot.
    Devotion stitched in broken glass,
    A requiem of what won’t pass.

    And yet—

    Though every star feels sharp and cruel,
    One blink of dawn might make me whole.

    💬 If you or someone you know is struggling, please reach out:

    🇺🇸 United States

    988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline – Call or text 988
    https://988lifeline.org
    Free, 24/7 support for emotional distress and mental health crises.

    Crisis Text Line – Text HOME to 741741
    https://www.crisistextline.org

    —

    🇬🇧 United Kingdom

    Samaritans – Call 116 123 (free, 24/7)
    https://www.samaritans.org

    —

    🇦🇺 Australia

    Lifeline Australia – Call 13 11 14
    https://www.lifeline.org.au

    Kids Helpline (ages 5–25) – Call 1800 55 1800
    https://www.kidshelpline.com.au

    —

    🇨🇦 Canada

    Talk Suicide Canada – Call 1-833-456-4566 or text 45645
    https://talksuicide.ca

    —

    🇵🇭 Philippines

    Hopeline Philippines
    Call: 0917 558 4673, (02) 8804 4673, or 2919 (toll-free for Globe & TM)
    https://www.hopelineph.com

    —

    🌍 Global

    Befrienders Worldwide – Emotional support in 30+ countries
    https://www.befrienders.org

    Suicide Prevention Wiki (International Hotline Directory)
    https://suicidestop.com/call_a_hotline.html

    🖤 You Matter.

    Even when the world feels unbearably heavy — you are not alone.
    There is help. There is hope. Please stay.

    Still Here (A Poem About Suicidal Thoughts, Survival and Hope

  • Still Here –  A Poem About Suicidal Thoughts, Survival, and Hope

    Rowan Evans

    [Content Warning]
    This poem includes references to suicidal thoughts and mental health struggles.
    Please read with care and know that support is always available.
    If you are in crisis, please reach out to someone—or to me directly. 💜

    You are not alone. Your pain is real. Your survival is sacred.

    [Intro]
    This is one of the hardest poems I’ve ever written—and maybe one of the most important.
    It’s for anyone who’s ever stood on the edge, feeling like no one could reach them.
    It’s about survival, memory, and the quiet miracle of being still here.
    If you’re reading this and hurting, know this:
    You’re not alone. And I’m not going anywhere.

    “Still Here”

    I’ve thought about it,
    a time or two.
    about what I would do,
    if you ever failed to get through—

    To pierce the fog in my mind,
    if there wasn’t a single reason I could find,
    to stay, to hold on just a little longer—
    as I stood on the ledge,
    overlooking the ocean’s edge.

    I swore I’d never let it get to this point,
    I would fight to keep from losing myself,
    but I slipped, tripped and got lost along the way.

    Wandering through my mind scape,
    trying to find an escape—
    trying to have an S on my chest and a red cape.

    But I’m not a hero,
    just a person with too much heart
    and not enough quiet.

    Still, I write.
    Still, I breathe.
    Still, I wait for your voice
    to cut through the dark, a lighthouse
    leading me through the storm fog.

    Because if you ever stopped reaching,
    I don’t know if I’d remember
    how to swim.

    So I clutch these memories
    like life perservers—
    your laugh, your light,
    the way you once told me
    I was more than the weight I carry.

    And I whisper back,
    even when you can’t hear me—

    I’m trying,
    I’m still here.
    Hanging by a thread,
    sometimes curious
    about the taste of lead.
    But no longer do I wish I were dead.

    So I plead, so I never slip again—

    Please.
    Keep calling me home.

    [Author’s Note]
    If you’re feeling suicidal, please—reach out.
    To a trusted friend, a family member, a professional.
    Or, if those feel too close… too complicated…

    Reach out to me.

    You don’t have to go through this alone.
    You matter.
    Your voice matters.
    And I will hold space for you.

    rowan@poetrybyrowanevans.com

    With all my heart,
    – Rowan

  • For a Moment, I Was Home

    Rowan Evans
    Nakauwi na ako.

    I was staying with the guy who offered me a place—a warm, open home in the Philippines. The morning was slow, soft. We just talked and laughed, getting to know each other better as the sun filtered through the window. I felt… weightless. For the first time in so long, my body didn’t ache. I didn’t need to hide inside my own skin.   
       
    Later that day, I met up with her at the mall. The woman that had inspired every single love poem I had written for the last year.   
       
    She was wearing a sundress, soft purple with white stripes. It matched her Nikes—white with hints of violet, like twilight folded into fabric. Her voice sounded like heaven, and her giggle—God, her giggle—made the whole world stop. The way she caught me looking at her, like she knew, and didn’t mind… like she liked it. The world faded every time she laughed. It was just us. No noise, no pain, no fear. Just us.   
       
    We wandered the shops. She lit up when we passed a shoe display. I noticed the way her eyes lingered, how her fingers brushed the pair she liked without touching the price tag. She didn’t need to ask. I bought them for her without hesitation. Not to impress her—but because I wanted to. Because she deserved to have things that made her smile like that.   
       
    Before the dream ended, I said something in Tagalog. I don’t remember the words, not fully. But I know what they meant:   
       
    “I’m home.”   
       
    And I was. For that brief, beautiful moment—I was whole. I wasn’t in pain. I wasn’t fighting my own thoughts. I wasn’t surviving. I was living.   
       
    I woke up with tears on my cheeks.   
       
    The sunlight in my real room was harsher—unfiltered, impatient. My knees screamed again. My back ached like it always does. The weight came rushing back, like gravity remembered me.   
       
    But even through the pain,   
    even through the disappointment of being pulled from that softness—   
    I smiled.   
       
    Because for a little while,   
    I knew what it was to live without hurting.   
    To breathe without breaking.   
    To love without fear.   
       
    And even if it was only a dream,   
    it’s mine now.   
    A secret I tuck into the folds of my ribs.   
    A memory from a place that maybe isn’t real,   
    but felt more real than anything else ever has.   
       
    And that… that’s enough to keep going.   
       
    At least for today.   
    At least for now.