Oh, let me tell you… my dream home would be somewhere gloriously rural, with the kind of countryside charm that makes you want to put your feet up and never leave. And yes, it must be close enough to a beach that I can saunter down in flip-flops or bare feet, hair doing whatever it wants in the wind, no shame, no drama. Sun? Absolutely. Lots of sun, thank you very much. None of that gloomy, miserable drizzle nonsense unless it’s dramatic for effect.
Inside, it would be a glorious mess of comfort and chaos. Books piled everywhere like tiny towers of knowledge (or maybe just excuses for not tidying). Paintings leaning in corners, some upside-down, some not, because perfection is boring. Cushions everywhere, a chair that has my shape permanently molded into it, and a kitchen that smells perpetually of something delicious, maybe herbs, maybe bread, or perhaps a bit of chocolate guilt-free. The table would be ready for guests, friends, random strangers, and the odd squirrel if it comes highly recommended.
Outside, the garden would do whatever the garden wants, wildflowers cheekily nudging the paths, herbs staging minor rebellions, and a cat or two judging me silently from the fence. Waves would whisper from the nearby beach, the sun would lounge like a golden cat across the rooms, and I’d be free to wander, write, paint, nap, or argue with the universe about why it hasn’t delivered snacks yet.
In short: it wouldn’t just be a house. It would be a slightly rebellious, sun-soaked sanctuary for my soul, where laughter is loud, the wind has a say, and every corner invites mischief or daydreaming, or both.
Mae 🧡
UNDER THE WILL... OVER THE DRAMA... 
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