Really old ones with character that do that thing where they sigh. I want to paint my front door yellow. And I want a yellow kitchen, with a yellow tea kettle and an elephant teapot. And a real fireplace to light candles in in the summer and burn wood in the winter. And a spiral staircase. And a balcony. And I’d want to live on the sea, so I could always hear the waves. Ahh, that’d be so perfect. And I’d have a husband. A husband who puts God first, then me and our family. A man after God’s own heart. He’d take care of me and kiss my forehead and hold my hand for no reason, just because. And he’d bring me home bouquets of sunflowers just because he knows how happy it makes me. And we'd tell each other "I love you" all the time, not just when we're saying good bye. He’d call me “baby” and “babe” and I’d call him “noor” and “darling.” But not in that fake, "let’s call each other these endearing names cuz people are around" way, we’d do it genuinely. And we’d raise our children in this perfect house by the sea with the yellow front door. Children with messy hair and bright eyes that are full of laughter. Adventurous, creative, curious, imaginative children who want to grow up to make the world a better place. Children with names like Laila and Zane and Judah and Tessa. Maybe Roya and Soraya. Some adopted, some not.
This is my “house with the white picket fence” dream. Every girl’s permitted one, so this is mine, no matter how ridiculous and corny and sappy it sounds. I feel like such a nine year old girl writing this, but it was kind of fun. To dream. Maybe someday.
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