I am made of words that remain. Those that were not said, but were felt — and therefore, became a home.

This site is home to someone who does not write out of vanity, but for sensitive survival. I write like someone who breathes: it is not always pretty, but it is necessary.

The *Closet of the Soul* is my secret room open to the world. A space where I keep memories dressed in text, longings that wear words and silences that, sometimes, ask to be heard.

The person who lives here may be a little like you: made of beginnings that never ended, of goodbyes that did not hurt enough, of affections kept in envelopes that were never sent.

Welcome to this space. It is mine. But if it fits you, it will be yours too.