Enjoying the comfort of what felt like the last flower.
I wore pink.
Not loud.
Not soft.
But rose pink —
subtle,
gentle,
shooting.
I indulged in the last breath of evening sun,
Touching my skin,
letting it linger.
And I sighed.
A feeling settled deep in my chest —
not sorrow,
but recognition:
Storming nights are coming.
I must let go of my daily citrus light.
The one that warms me.
The one that brings me joy.
The one that sings in my veins like a summer song.
And yes —
it is hard.
Almost painful.
But then I remember:
Last autumn.
Not the one I feared,
but the one I wore —
not with a bandage,
but with resilience,
wrapped in softness,
in the fashion of what should be.
I didn’t just endure,
I created in it.
I built a whole new world
from silence,
from a quiet light,
from the rustle of golden leaves.
And in that —
I could see:
Autumn is not a wave of darkness.
It is a honey-glow warmth that heals.
That slows down.
That teaches.
I remembered:
First light seeping through the window.
Brown, creamy chocolate.
Syrup spilling over pancakes.
Morning hobbies,
The golden leaves falling,
The last wave of colors before the dark nights creep in.
Yes.
Yes!
The homebodies know —
we don’t fear autumn.
We welcome it.
It is followed by long nights,
by quiet,
by rest.
But I’ve learned to grow
these tender days.
Not in spite of the dark —
but because of it.
For autumn shapes us into who we are.
It teaches us to admire the blooming days.
To hold color like it’s sacred.
To find joy in sweetness and silence.
And so —
I open my arms.
Not in surrender.
But in love.
Though it carries a whisper of melancholy,
I am ready.
Ready to heal.
Ready to learn.
Ready to grow.
Autumn is coming.
And I say:
I am inclined.
COPYRIGHT
The moral right of the author has been asserted. All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, retransmitted, allocated unabridged or part, in any way, also photocopied or in any electronic form without the written consent of the copyright holder, and any infringement of this is a violation of copyright law. Solely a single copy of the material available in the story, in the case of quotations embodied in critical analysis may be made and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
It sings a quiet, soft love song, whispering between worlds — a melody offered to anyone willing to listen.
It’s a city where France and Germany meet, to become one. Both languages entwined like a boat dressed with leaves by the edge of a sunlit beach.
Medieval timber frames lean toward each other like old best friends.
Canals reflect the beauty of rose-colored houses, as if watercolor paintings had come to life.
It’s a city that sees and believes in beauty, mirroring it, making you want to meet it halfway with your fashion. A city that isn’t loud but tender, its details touching your heart softly, making you feel alive.
It wears its heart on its walls. It doesn’t hide its soul. It paints it — in pastel pink, butter yellow, sky blue, mint green, cinnamon brown, crisp white —
It is a dream. A dream I wished I didn’t have to wake up from so soon. A dreamy city where soft life is their lifestyle.
La Petite France 💛
The part of the city that touched me the most was la petite France. The Heart and the most famous part of Strasbourg —
This beautiful place feels like a village inside a city, where time slows, and you can almost hear the rustle of silk from centuries ago.
Every building looks like it stepped out of a storybook.
Narrow canals carry passengers who see the city with twinkling eyes because they feel it touch their hearts tenderly like it touched mine.
Half-timbered houses with steep roofs and flower boxes spilling over with pink and red,
Wooden signs swaying in the wind, shaped like old apothecary bottles or swans,
Cobblestones — some digging through your shoes, reaching your feet as you walk, reminding you they’ve been here for centuries.
La Petite France was once the tanners’ quarter — not glamorous, perhaps, but that history is part of its soul. But with time, the city softened its edges, turned utility into beauty.
There’s something very feminine about this place — not in terms of gender, but in energy, in feeling.
It is delicate, subtle, gentle, there which out shouting that it exists.
As I walked through La Petite France, listened to it sing its love song to me —
I realized that it isn’t just beautiful. It’s dressed beautifully. Its walls wearing stripes, textures, layers —
just like we do.
And I suddenly, I understood:
I wasn’t just visiting Strasbourg.
I was harmonizing with it. Singing the same song that says we are alike. Tender, sweet, soft, creative and colorful.
~~~
I wore a striped beige-and-white top, flared like a page turning in the wind, accompanied with a wavy-edged skirt, soft and rippling like canal water
A white bag and brown, black, grey, and golden sandals that mimicked the cobblestones.
And to top it off, white hair clip and hair band that reflects that purity.
I felt like I was rhyming with the city.
~~~
1.Love, Locked in Red
By the canal, I found multiple bridges wrapped in red padlocks —
Small heart shaped promises left by lovers, clicking in the breeze like heartbeats.
It made me think.
Love doesn’t have to be loud to be heard. It is real.
It can be quiet. Small. Held in memory.
So — I imagined an outfit for quiet love:
A pink silk skirt — soft as a first kiss.
Olive green top — calm, steady, growing.
White sandals — barefoot on stone, but still elegant.
A delicate gold necklace — like a single thread of devotion.
Because love isn’t always red roses.
Sometimes, it’s a whisper in pastel.
~~~
2. The Art of the Unplanned
I hope to see art when I’m traveling because I’m an artist, and I also enjoy admiring the artwork of others. As I wandered into the market near the city center, I found what I was hoping for.
Vintage chairs with peeling paint,
Old books with cracked spines,
Handmade ceramics that looked like they’d been kissed by time.
And I saw a building — a building where green leaves sprouted from the roof,
and golden letters curled across the top,
like the city was writing poetry in sunlight.
It reminded me:
Beauty doesn’t need permission.
It grows where it’s loved.
So I dreamed up an outfit for the art of becoming:
Blue striped wide-leg pants — like brushstrokes on canvas
A crisp white blouse — for paint smudges and poetry stains
Brown leather loafers — made for wandering
A vintage brooch — shaped like a bird, because art should fly
~~~
3. The Man and the Bike.
Admiring the canal —
A man holding a child’s bike, small and bright. I imagined his story.
He was only standing there but his stance told his story. A quiet one that an artist like me enjoyed —
As he stood there I thought —
He is part of this moment in time. Our timelines entwined for just a few minutes — and isn’t this what life is meant to be?
This is the tenderness of life…
Present in our memory forever.
So I imagined an outfit for gentle, quiet care, everyday love:
Beige linen set — top and wide pants, soft and breathable
White sneakers — for chasing tiny feet
A canvas tote — holding snacks, toys, tiny socks
A striped scarf in pastel yellow — because joy is small and bright
Because fashion isn’t just for runways.
It’s for creating a moment by the water.
~~~
4. Jazz, in One Note.
Just like the man by the canal. People are at the right place the right time to create a story and I feel blessed to be part of it.
In a corner there sat a man playing saxophone, alone, stuck in the moment, the city like we all did.
He played a melody that traveled through the alley like perfume. Like a meal your grandmother would cook —
The smell inviting, the taste leaving memories that would never fade.
With his consent he allowed me to take a picture of him.
Because he was happy to be heard.
And I thought:
This is why we create.
Not for fame.
Not for likes.
But so someone might pause —
and feel less alone and be part of the light.
My heart recognized it.
Because I speak the same language.
~~~
It is just like fashion. Isn’t it?
Crafted with the heart…
and a joyful surprise to others.
Strasbourg showed me its heart and sang me its song and I sang back, harmonizing with it. Because we were both similar in so many ways. Now I travel with a piece of it in my chest. Still hearing its melody echo in my heart.
Strasbourg didn’t just show me its beauty.
It showed me its heart.
It sang to me —
not in words,
but in pastel-colored houses,
in flowers boxes on the balcony,
in the click of red love locks on the canal,
in the way a saxophonist played with quiet of ardor.
And I sang back.
Not with voice,
but with what I wore.
A striped beige-and-white top,
flared like a page turning in the wind.
A wavy-edged skirt,
soft and rippling like canal water.
Sandals that mimicked the cobblestones.
A white hair clip —
pure,
quiet,
holy.
We were not so different,
Strasbourg and I.
Both tender.
Both golden.
Both believing in softness.
And now —
I travel with a piece of it in my chest.
Not in a photo,
not in a memory —
but in my soul.
I still hear its melody.
Not in my ears,
but in my breath.
In my silence.
In the way I see and wear color.
And if you listen closely —
you’ll hear it too.
The love song of a city that still believes in wonder.
And the girl who sang back in stripes and light.
Thank you so much for reading and for your support.
There is an unspoken beauty in the things we never got the chance to post. Wheter it is, art, music, books, poems, or outfits.
They aren’t failed pieces, they are your story that helped you become. They are like unsent letters —your poetry, that will one day come to light.
I weaved my story in silence. Styles I poured my heart into like a love letter. Styles — that I not only put together, but also that helped shape me into a better stylist. They might have not been seen, but they could never be useless; Because they weren’t forgotten — They served as a guiding light to a new and brighter beginning.
It gave me the chance to work through something I hold dear, so I can give you the best of me.
Written with my heart —
Created with deep passion—
Weaved with my soul.
I bet you also have unseen outfits floating in the seas of your past photos. In hopes that this will help you bring yours to light, dive in deep on what helped me put my outfits together.
Traveling always fans the flame of my creativity. Last fall and winter — were filled with traveling and discovering new places. Settling shortly in cities that I never thought I would visit. But they left such strong marks on me; digging into my heart like an arrow.
Even though the experiences were beautiful, the seasons were still rough. Last winter was cold ( I know you felt that too) and my suitcases were heavy, carrying part of my life. But it taught me how to wrap myself in resilience, in softness, in the fashion of what should be; while I watch the drifting sea on a boat. Each fold of fabric holding feelings, moods, moments. Meeting each other, textures, tones, and a silent prayer to be seen.
I created a Palette Of Restraint. With more neutrals than I thought I would.
Beige — like the first light that seeps through the window on a snowy morning.
Brown — like almond iced coffee. Or hot chocolate stirred with a melting Mars bar.
Black — like the nights that felt like they were endless as we closed our eyes and laid in the dark whispering a prayer for Spring to hurry and come along.
Green — like the amazon forest — that don’t need to shout to be seen. The color that the trees don’t wear in the winter because they too await the sunlight of spring.
And Cherry Red — oh, how we love our cherry red — Like wine that you savor on a cold snowy afternoon. Oh how we love it, in boots and bags that you could feel pulsate like a heart beat under the snow.
There was a splash of Pink —
Which I usually overuse. It wasn’t loud —
But was still imminent like a flower growing through pavement.
And though I wished I used more Orange,
The Citrus light we all need in our lives. The color that is weaved with my soul this summer.
I’ve come to realize that, every season does not just show up and past: It shapes us into who we are. Every winter filled with seasonal depression prepares us to indulge in the warmer weather. We appreciate the blooming petals that help our soul burn bright again.
I didn’t post—
Because some seasons aren’t for sharing. They’re for meditating on your silent growth. Because it is good to weight things before taking a step forth. Letting the colors settle. Learning how to wear silence before it turns into a flame.
And now, now I see —
How these pieces were never wasted.
They were “needed”.
They taught me how to build a foundation before I painted the walls into a golden light.
I know you wonder, what’s Next?
Well, first I’m wearing the colors I didn’t get to wear last season and I won’t hold back sharing my sweetness, my tenderness, my art and craft with you; along with my outfits.
But I’ll never forget the season of subtlety —
The one that dressed me in whispers,
So I could learn to speak in sunsets.
To every outfit I didn’t post —
thank you.
I will never forget you.
You are part of me. Sealed in what is to come. The becoming.
And to you —
I’m sure you have work of art that haven’t made it online.
But know this: They mattered. They were needed. To shape you. To help you become. They were part of your story, and will never be forgotten.
For the many outfits that didn’t get a chance to be seen remember this. Style isn’t about the post. It’s in how you were it. It shows your personality, the colors and shapes reflects who you are and shows your creativity. It’s weaved in with your heart and soul; not to be shown, off but to have fun. So it doesn’t matter if it wasn’t seen, or didn’t get likes. You dared to create a world that you can call yours. And that — That is the very reason why we’ve been created. It was to give life a meaning.