A companion poem to For a Moment, I Was Home
Poetry by Rowan Evans

“Sometimes we dream ourselves into closeness,
only to wake in the hollow ache of absence.
This is that ache.”
— Rowan Evans, The Luminous Heretic

There are dreams that don’t leave you—
Not because they were beautiful,
but because they reminded you what belonging could feel like.

Waking Up Six Thousand Miles from Home is a poem written in the aftermath of such a dream—
a continuation of the ache I captured in For a Moment, I Was Home.

This is about longing.
Not just for a person.
But for a place.
For a version of yourself that only exists in their world.

It is about calling out in love,
and hearing the land answer back.

“Waking Up Six Thousand Miles from Home“

🌊

Take me to the islands, where my heart resides—
They say it beats inside my chest still,
but it just sits inside my chest—still.

Take me home to foreign shores,
white sand beaches—

And they tell me, you’re home here,
but that’s not true. It can’t be—
because you’re still six thousand miles away.

I called out to—her.
My words were meant just for her ears,
her eyes—
words all written to kiss her mind.

I called out to her again.
And this time, the islands listened.
They called back—

You’re welcome here, they said.
Our arms are open. When you can,
you’ll walk upon our sand.

Finally home—
in a foreign land.

💭 A Few Thoughts

This poem was written as a quiet echo to For a Moment, I Was Home—a vignette birthed from a dream that felt so real, I woke up aching from the distance. If you’ve ever felt emotionally rooted in a place you’ve never physically touched, you understand this. If you’ve ever felt your body here, but your heart somewhere else entirely—you understand this.

There’s a kind of sacred dissonance to loving someone, or somewhere, from six thousand miles away. This poem lives in that dissonance. It honors the ache without trying to fix it.

✍️ Author’s Note

I have never been to the Philippines—yet.
But I have come to love its people, its languages, its laughter, and its soul through the hearts of those I hold dear. I have no ancestral claim, no childhood memories tied to its shores.
Only a love that was chosen—not inherited.
A love that grew through friendship, shared words, and late-night conversations that crossed oceans.

This poem is an ache, a reverent imagining.
A prayer sent to a place that has already welcomed me in spirit—
even if my feet have not yet touched its soil.

To the islands: I hear you.
And I’m still coming home.

— Rowan Evans

🔗 Talk to Me

Has a dream ever haunted you in the best way?
Have you ever felt like home was somewhere you hadn’t reached yet?
I’d love to hear your thoughts—drop a comment, send me a message, or share this with someone who understands the ache.

Welcome home, even if it’s six thousand miles away. 💕