This wasn’t planned as part of the current sequence.
Some things just need to be written–and shared–when they happen.

Author’s Note

There are patterns we don’t always notice until we’ve lived them more than once.

The same thoughts.
The same timing.
The same quiet retreat inward.

The Mind’s Winter comes from recognizing one of those cycles in real time–watching myself disappear into my own head, knowing it’s happening, and not always knowing how to stop it.

It’s strange, being both the one experiencing something and the one observing it. To understand the “why,” but still feel pulled into it anyway.

This piece isn’t about solving that pattern.

It’s about naming it.

About acknowledging the way overwhelm can turn inward, how distance can grow even when you don’t want it to, and how sometimes the things that matter most are the very things that scare us into retreat.

And maybe, in recognizing the cycle…

there’s a chance to break it.

— Rowan Evans

The Mind’s Winter
Poetry by Rowan Evans

February 8th, 2026—
I got sick again.
It happens every year
like clockwork.
It starts with the headache,
caused by being overwhelmed.

It starts slowly,
then snowballs
into more.

You see, this period of time—
it usually comes after
what I tend to call
the mind’s winter.

I slip into a deep void
of thought.

January 8th…
that’s the date.

That’s when I drift inside.
I get lost in my mind,
and I stay there—
one month—I’m gone.
Lost in thought.

One month
leading up to my “big day,”
the one they say
should celebrate me.

But I don’t see it that way.
It’s just another day.

And usually,
I bounce back.
It’s quick…

but this?

This feels like an attack—
one month in my head,
two weeks sick and then?

I broke my glasses—
vision—
I lost access.

And the longer I’m gone,
the more I pull away,
even as I—

want to stay.

You know what
the worst part is?

The worst part is—
that I know why.

I know why I do it…
why I pull away.

I’ve said the reason
a hundred times,
in nearly as many rhymes.
It’s because you meant
too much to me.
I got scared and retreated
into me.

So here it is—
March 21st,
and I—

I haven’t spoken to you
since February 6th,
and if I’m honest—

I miss you.

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