Author’s Note

Ordinary Heart, Extraordinary You serves as a spiritual successor to a poem I shared back in June — a piece that spoke of wanting to be “the last one,” not the first. Where that poem lived in longing and quiet promise, this one lives in the present moment — in laughter, teasing, honesty, and connection.

It’s a reflection on how love, in its truest form, doesn’t always need to shout. Sometimes it’s enough to show up, to care openly, to let someone know that even the smallest moments are extraordinary because they are shared.

This piece, like so many before it, was written for the one who inspires the gentler parts of me — my muse who reminds me that being soft is not the same as being weak, that tenderness can be its own kind of rebellion.

She will know it’s her — she always does.

Ordinary Heart, Extraordinary You
Poetry by Rowan Evans

You laughed about him—
he’s an asshole, you said—
“Most guys are,” I replied,
“I’d say I’m probably an exception…
but some people might think I’m an asshole.”
You didn’t hesitate.
“No, you’re not.”
And that was enough—
a single truth, quiet but steady,
like a hand on the small of my back
when everything else wobbles.

Later, you startled me.
“Omg, fuck,” you said,
and my chest jumped before I even knew why.
I told you, it’s okay—proof I care.
You replied, “You don’t need proof. You know I know.”
And the world shrank,
everything else left behind
except the way your words settled in my chest.

We talked about how he doesn’t really get you—
how he’s always asking about the future
when you just want to live in the moment.
We talked about how his plans are boring as hell,
how you’re aching for a thrill.

You said you’d tease him on the ferris wheel,
your laugh filling the night,
“I’d suffocate him with my boobies.”
And without missing a beat, I said—
“If he’s not up for it, I’ll take his place.”
And it wasn’t bravado—it was instinct.
Because being near you
makes me brave
in ways I didn’t know I could be.

You spoke of thrill rides—
bungee jumps and wall climbs.
“I’ve always wanted to try,” I admitted.
“But it would take the right person,
someone who could push me through.”
You responded with one single word: “Me.”
And just like that, fear felt smaller—
the leap somehow possible
if I took it with you.

I don’t need to be first.
I don’t even need to be noticed yet.
I just need to be the one
who stays,
who laughs at your jokes,
who trembles when you
almost make my heart stop,
who shows up
because you matter.

I will be that one.
Not loud, not flashy.
But here.
Always here.
Waiting for the ordinary moments
that turn extraordinary
because they are ours.

You can find more of poetry [here], and you can find the spiritual precursor to this piece [Don’t Need to Be First].