i'm a quiet storm. a tender ghost. a girl made of ink, memory, and fog. this space is where i collect my thoughts like pressed flowers — imperfect, but sacred.
i write for the parts of myself that were never given space. for the younger version of me who needed softness more than answers. my words are spells, my silence a ritual.
this blog is part diary, part shrine. if you found your way here, maybe you’re looking for a kind of stillness too. you’re welcome to stay as long as you like.
“i am not here to be understood. i am here to remember myself.”