Author’s Note

Between Sun & Shore was written in February of last year, during a season where I was learning what it felt like to be seen gently instead of weathered. It came from a place of quiet awe—of realizing that sometimes love doesn’t arrive like a storm, but like warmth. Like light finding its way through the cracks you thought would always stay broken.

This poem is about that in-between space: where grief softens, where healing begins, where you are no longer only the tide or the storm—but something new, something held. It’s about the moment you realize that someone hasn’t come to save you… they’ve come to grow beside you.

Between Sun & Shore
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I once drifted like a wayward tide,
Lost in the waves, nowhere to hide.
Storms had carved their name in me,
Each scar a tale, each wound a sea.

Then you arrived—a golden ray,
Like sunrise spilling into the bay.

Your voice, a hymn the wind would weave,
Soft as the hum of the monsoon’s reprieve.
You traced my ruins, stone by stone,
And turned them into sacred homes.

Now every ripple speaks your name,
Each whispered breeze, each dancing flame.

Like sampaga’s quiet grace,
You bloom where sorrow left its trace.
Between Sun and Shore, love grew—
A bridge of light, leading to you.

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