Author’s Note

Some journeys begin long before we ever take the first physical step.

The Roads Not Taken is about the space between knowing where you want to go and having the means to get there. It’s about looking back at the dreams that slipped away, the opportunities that never quite came together, and the versions of life that might have been—and still choosing to look forward.

Sometimes, what looks like failure from the outside is simply a setback. What looks like standing still might be slow motion. Not every journey moves at the pace other people expect, and not every destination makes sense to those who can’t see what you’re working toward.

For me, this particular dream has been around since I was fourteen. It’s followed me through different versions of myself, different plans, and different ideas of what the future might look like. The destination has taken shape over time, but the pull toward somewhere else has never entirely disappeared.

And no, I haven’t forgotten the practical obstacle. Dreams are lovely, but plane tickets aren’t purchased with poetic metaphors. Sometimes the missing piece really is money.

Still, I don’t believe every meaningful decision arrives with a dramatic announcement. Sometimes destiny is quieter than that. Sometimes it’s the persistent whisper that keeps drawing you toward a life you haven’t lived yet.

When the time comes, it won’t mean I suddenly decided to go.

It will mean I’ve finally reached the point a much younger version of me has been imagining for years.

— Rowan Evans

The Roads Not Taken
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I’ve been lost in my mind again,
been here but hard to find again—
and when I think I’ve got my thoughts on track,
it’s like my mind skips, it’s still buffering—
but really, I’m fine—I’m not suffering,
just contemplating all I lack—
the roads not taken, looking back,
the dreams that slipped between my hands—
and castles built on shifting sands.

Where you see failures,
I see setbacks—
Where you see stillness,
I see slow motion—
with each step
trying to steady the next.

You see, I know where I’m going—
the directions set,
so when I’m finally gone—
don’t be upset,
I’ll be exactly where I want to be,
a place that from afar
felt like home to me.

So what is it that I lack, exactly?
Funds, matter of fact—money,
that’s exactly what I lack, it’s true.
But if I had the funds to do,
exactly what I wanted to—
I would board a jet
and hit the sky—
I’d never look back,
and leave them asking why—

but destiny isn’t loud,
it doesn’t shout,
it whispers.

And I’ve spent years
leaning toward that sound—
so when I finally go,
it won’t be sudden,
it’ll be the quiet completion
of a journey—

I started at fourteen.

Journey into the Hexverse

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