What Safety Feels Like

 You weren’t lightning. You were roots.” —Elowen

This isn’t a love letter.
It’s a recollection spell.
The retelling of a moment the world was unraveling—
and something quieter, stronger, began to root itself in the seam of it all.

We met when the world was coming undone. I sat in an airport where voices were tightening and the air tasted like uncertainty—flights delaying, rerouting, rules shifting midair. Right then, in the noise and static, my phone whispered your name. A new match.

In the beginning, I didn’t know. Didn’t feel the cosmic slam of recognition people talk about. But I felt something steadier: calm.

We started talking that same day, and nothing about it felt forced. What I couldn’t name yet was already forming in the quiet. Before I knew it, I was waking with a smile—before my eyes opened, before words came. My subconscious had already decided: he makes me feel good.

I knew I was in trouble when a simple walk in the open—Covid rules still fencing us in—became the highlight of my day. Not the exhaustion from work. Not the news. Just the warmth rising in my chest because I’d get to see you.

I knew I was in trouble when you drove me to my favorite hiking spot, fully knowing the park was closed, and still—you came prepared. Coffee, layers, snacks, a blanket folded in the trunk like you’d been waiting for this moment all along. I hadn’t thought of any of that. But you had.

That’s the thing. You always think of me.

You brought back the softness I buried. My silliness—because you are unapologetically silly. My vulnerability—because you never made it feel like weakness. You saw me. Not the curated version. Not the mask I wore in past loves. You looked right through it.

And when you said I was beautiful, it wasn’t as currency for something you wanted. It was… an observation. A reverence.

You wanted me. Not just the body or the moment or the story. Me. The kind of wanting that waits with both hands open.

I told you things I never shared with anyone. And you didn’t flinch. You just said, “I got you. Let go.”

So I did.

But loving you wasn’t simple—not because of you, but because of everything I feared. I doubted myself. I waited for the crash. I thought, “What if this isn’t the soulmate I’m meant to wait for?” But fairytales never fit me. And love-at-first-sight was never going to build the kind of altar we’re standing on now.

You weren’t lightning. You were roots.

You didn’t demand anything. But you gave everything. Comfort. Listening. Consistency. The ability to fall asleep to your breath, your arm draped around me like a promise. You made me love cuddling again—even after years of rejection told me to armor that part away.

You stepped into a life that wasn’t empty. Children. History. Shadows. You didn’t just love me—you honored the whole. Now we move as one. My kids look up to you. We build, raise, laugh, heal. Together.

You remind me of who I am when the world tries to shrink me.

And if I had to name what we’re becoming…
It would taste like passionfruit.
Slightly tangy. Entirely ours.

Elowen stands in this love barefoot, unguarded—
No lightning bolts. No pedestal.
Just the slow blooming of a real kind of magic
That doesn't need to be loud
to be legendary.

@notesformysoulmate

This piece is protected—not to memorialize perfection, but to honor the quiet courage of choosing love again.
Elowen stands here—barefoot in memory, wrapped in gratitude, held by something real.
© 2025 Notesformysoulmate. All rights reserved.

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