Author’s Note

This piece wasn’t planned.

It came out in one sitting–somewhere between thought and feeling, where things don’t always organize themselves neatly. It’s messy in the way real reflection tends to be.

There’s a version of me that still exists in that room. The one surrounded by noise, by doubt, by everything that hasn’t fully let go yet.

And for a long time, I thought the goal was to get out of that room entirely.

To silence it. To leave it behind.

But that’s not what happened.

Instead, I learned how to sit in it differently.

To see the shadows for what they are–not threats, but remnants. Not something to fear, but something to understand.

And somewhere along the way, I realized something else–

that I wasn’t alone in that space anymore.

This piece is about that shift.

Not from the darkness to light…
but from fear to awareness.

— Rowan Evans

Lantern in the Room
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I sit in an empty room—
but I’m not alone here.

It’s me, myself
and the demons I hide.

Remnants
of a shattered mind,

scattered across
endless timelines.

A life of possibility,
held back by humility—
and a lack of confidence.

I don’t know
how to take a compliment.

What makes it worse is—
I know my worth…
but I question
how anyone else could.

I don’t let them
get close enough to know.

I get just close enough—
close enough to know it’s real.

Then I pull back—
because I’m scared to feel.

I’ve been hurt before.

And that hurt—
it festered,
turned to rot.

It spread
inside my chest,
until there was nothing left—

just fear and doubt.

In my head,
they shout.

I just wanted them out.

And then—

her.

Her,
with the voice
that cuts through
the fog.

Her,
with the eyes
that light up the night—
they brighten my life.

Her…
it’s always been her.

Since the moment
she appeared.
It felt like—
addiction.

I couldn’t get enough.

And I ask myself—
is this love?

I used to think
I knew what that was.

Now every thought
revolves around her.

Even when I drift,
the thought of her
brings me back to center.

She’s the tether—
a lighthouse
in stormy weather.

Just by existing,
she makes me better.

She didn’t save me.
She didn’t fix me—

she changed my perspective.

That’s it.

Now—
I can’t picture
what life was like before.

It feels distant.

Like a version of history
that didn’t happen to me.

But it did.

That’s where my scars
come from.

It’s where the demons
were born.

The voices that whisper—
the thoughts that scream—

is this a nightmare
or a dream?

Because I’m still terrified.
I’d be lying if I said otherwise.

So I return to the room—
lantern in hand.

The shadows don’t scare me anymore.

They’re just part
of the narrative now.

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