Sergio C. Fanjul

F. Libro Madrid, 2026

The room wasn't especially quiet.

There were ordinary sounds outside the window, sunlight shifting across the wall, the small movement of hair every time I changed where I was standing.

But the moment still felt held.

I've noticed that the clothes I reach for most often have almost disappeared into my life. They don't announce themselves anymore. A black knit that stretches exactly the way it should. Denim that's softened from being worn enough to remember me back.

Maybe comfort isn't something dramatic.

Maybe it's just the absence of interruption.

The rare feeling of putting something on and immediately forgetting about it because the day becomes more interesting than the outfit ever needed to be.

There are evenings that don't ask to become memories.

They simply happen quietly enough that you almost miss them while you're inside them. 🌙

The lamp hasn't moved.

The room hasn't changed.

Even the light keeps falling in exactly the same place. 🕯️

Only the expression does.

It's strange how a face can hold several versions of a person within a few seconds.

One thought disappears before another has fully arrived.

A smile visits without asking permission.

Silence returns just as naturally. 🤍

🌸My moon, my man🌸

Soft mornings, lilies, and songs that feel like love letters.

Trying to become someone i'd be gentle with.