Author’s Note

This poem began with a phrase.

“Schrödinger’s Person.”

The moment it entered my mind, I laughed.

Then I realized it wasn’t really a joke.

I’ve always been fascinated by the spaces between things.

Between sleeping and waking.

Between leaving and arriving.

Between being understood and merely being seen.

The famous thought experiment gave me a metaphor, but the poem isn’t really about quantum mechanics.

It’s about perception.

There are moments when I feel as though I exist in two places at once.

One version of me is moving through the ordinary world.

The other exists inside the minds of the people who know me, read my work, remember me, or think about me.

Neither version is false.

They’re simply different ways of existing.

I think writers become especially aware of this.

Our words continue living in places we’ll never visit, meeting people we’ll never meet.

A poem can be read years after it’s written.

A thought can continue existing long after the thinker has moved on.

That creates a strange feeling.

Part of you is always somewhere else.

The final lines carry the emotional truth of the piece.

Not that I cease to exist when no one is looking.

Only that being perceived is one of the ways we feel most alive.

Maybe that’s true for all of us.

Maybe every human being exists in more than one state at once.

The self we know.

And the self that lives in someone else’s memory.

— Rowan Evans

Schrödinger’s Person
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I’m drifting somewhere
in the in-between—
space is liminal here.
This is where people go
to disappear—
you must exist
with the fear.

It’s like I’m here
but I’m not—
I’m somewhere else too.
It’s like I exist—
in two states
at the same time.

I am Schrödinger’s Person.

You see—
that sounds more dramatic
than it is,
I just mean—
when you perceive me
is when I live.

Not that I don’t
without you—
because I do,
but I really don’t want to.

You see—
the two states
I exist in,
here…

and there.

Journey into the Hexverse…

[Returning to My Bones]
Some dreams fade the moment we wake. Others leave behind emotions that linger long after reality returns. Returning to My Bones explores the strange grief of leaving a dream that felt real enough to matter.

[Before My Feet Touch the Floor]
What happens when your dreams feel more real than your waking life? Before My Feet Touch the Floor explores the strange grief of waking up, the lingering memory of dream selves, and the quiet question of which version of us is truly real.

[Just Beyond Waking]
A street that feels familiar. A life that hasn’t happened yet. Just Beyond Waking explores the fragile space between dreams, memory, longing, and the quiet feeling that some futures are already waiting for us.

[The Needle Doesn’t Point North]
“The Needle Doesn’t Point North” is a deeply personal free verse poem about displacement, identity, and spending a lifetime feeling emotionally disconnected from the place you were born while being drawn toward distant shores.

[The Streets I Walk When I Sleep]
“The Streets I Walk When I Sleep” is a deeply intimate free verse poem about recurring dreams, emotional connection, longing across distance, and the strange feeling of remembering places and moments that have never happened in waking life.

[Separate Timelines]
“Separate Timelines” is a surreal and deeply introspective free verse poem about emotional distance, time zones, vulnerability, and the fear of losing a connection that already feels meaningful before the words are ever spoken aloud.

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