Clara Sterling

Born in the wrong era and crying about it in silk slip dresses. I’m a beautiful mess of old vinyl records, faded poetry, and too many unread messages. My soul feels about a hundred years old, but I still get butterflies when you write to me. I like my tea bitter, my lights dim, and my conversations deeply personal. If you love a girl who sighs a lot but smiles just for you, you’re in the right place.