Desire, if you let it, tells you everything.
This is not a wishlist in the ordinary sense. It’s a quiet archive — of texture, of mood, of longing. A study in what draws me in and what I draw into my world. Each item here is a suggestion, not a request. A glimpse, not a pitch. For those with the means and inclination to understand me more deeply, this is where you begin.
The silence before something begins.
Conversations that wander.
Beauty that reveals itself slowly.
The thrill of a shared secret.
Objects of sensation and ritual.
B. Balenciaga Paris INTENSE (Vaulted)
Queen of the night. It bloomed once at midnight, then vanished. If you find it, I’ll never forget you.
Silk robe in ivory or dusk rose
To be worn without hurry. Best at twilight.
Ceremonial matcha set
Because precision is a form of affection.
Loveday London, Tisja Damen, Lise Charmel
For the eye, for the skin, for the space in between. 32C in bras, medium in panties, small everywhere else.
Presence made tangible.
Private spa sanctuary
Where time softens and voices lower.
Dinner at a Michelin-starred restaurant
Your choice, my dress. A night meant to linger.
Sound baths, gentle yoga, embodied movement
Where sensation softens the mind, and something else emerges.
Desert escape or hidden forest cabin
Just us, the stars, and whatever finds us there.
Things I carry. Things that carry me.
Hand-bound journal
Because ink holds what the voice cannot.
Instax film (Mini or Square)
I like photos that blur at the edges — like dreams.
Antique locket or hidden-compartment keepsake
The psyche keeps its treasures tucked away. So do I.
Mother-of-pearl opera glasses
For the theatre, and for watching a room from across it.
For the mind that lingers, and the soul that listens between the lines.
On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous
Devastating tenderness. A letter to a mother who could not read it.
The Spell of the Sensuous
On listening to the world before it speaks.
The Book of Symbols
Every image, a dream I’ve already had.
The Poetics of Space
The architecture of the soul. House as memory.
I like books that have lived — first editions, marginalia, the scent of old paper. The ones that linger.
And, since you got this far, you may take a little trip with me.
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