Embracing Light: Shifting from Tragedy to Triumph, where Pixie’s ache meets Elowen’s clarity.

“I was never too much—only never his measure.” —Elowen

In the hush between glances and offerings, I stand—
a solitary figure seen but rarely approached.
They say there is something about me:
the way I hold my gaze too long, or not long enough.
The way I carry something ancient in my posture,
unbent and unshaken.

Perhaps they expect fragility before affection.
Perhaps my fire misreads as armor.
Perhaps I’m not the kind you rescue—
only the kind you rise beside.

But must I soften my spine for your approach?
Must I play small to be pursued?
No. I will not edit my magnitude
for the comfort of those who fear it.

I am not the damsel.
Nor the dragon.
I am the force that chooses
whether a sword is needed at all.

My presence is not defiance—it is clarity.
My gaze is not invitation—it is revelation.
What you see is not a threat.
It is truth with its back straight.

I do not long for protection—I long for partnership.
For love that does not tremble in the presence of fire,
but honors its warmth, stands within it, and says,
"I see you. Let’s meet as equals."

So I wait.
Not in passivity, but in promise.
Not for a savior, but for a soul who sees
that I was never too much—
only never his measure.

@notesformysoulmate

This piece is protected—not to guard the words,
but to honor the woman who wrote them.
Elowen’s gaze lives here now—
in ink, in posture, in the fire that does not flinch.
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