One Day, I’ll Wake Up to the Life I Dream Of

Somewhere in the future, there is a morning waiting for me. A morning where the weight on my chest is lighter, where the air smells of fresh coffee and the soft scent of vanilla lingering in the corners of a home built from love, not just bricks. A morning when I open my eyes and the life I’ve carried in my heart, the one I’ve imagined in quiet moments and lonely nights, is finally real.

I don’t know when that morning will come.

But I do know what it looks like.

I know it’s slow. Not rushed, not frantic, not stolen between deadlines and exhaustion. Just soft, golden-lit peace. A life where I wake up beside love, not longing. Where the mornings are filled with warm arms wrapped around me instead of the cold weight of waiting. Where my feet touch a floor that feels like home, not just a place to rest in between the chaos.

I dream of this life often.

A life where the world is quiet, except for the sound of waves in the distance, the rustling of trees swaying with the wind. A place where the nights are slow, where the stars are bright enough to make wishes upon, and where love doesn’t have to shout to be heard. Just us, a home with open windows, the scent of the earth after the rain, and nothing but time stretched out before us.

I dream of a love that is not hurried.

The kind that grows in whispers and soft glances, in inside jokes and knowing looks across the room. A love that exists in the little things—morning teas made just the way I like, a shared playlist for long drives, silent conversations where words aren’t needed because everything that matters is already understood.

I dream of a home that breathes.

A space that holds laughter in its walls, where the floors remember the softness of bare feet dancing in the kitchen at midnight. A place where books are stacked in corners, candles burn slow and warm, and the light spills in through the windows just right. A home where love lingers, even in the silence.

I don’t ask for much.

I don’t need luxury, or crowds, or the fast-paced hunger for more, more, more. I just need love. Stillness. The kind of peace that comes from knowing I am exactly where I belong.

I know the world is loud. I know life is unpredictable. I know that the path to this dream of mine is not a straight road, but a winding, sometimes difficult journey. But I don’t mind.

Because I will wait.

I will wait for the mornings that feel like poetry, for the days that are filled with nothing but warmth and belonging. I will wait for a love that is not rushed but built, piece by piece, moment by moment. I will wait for the life I dream of—the one where I can finally exhale, finally let go of all the weight I’ve carried, and just exist in the beauty of the quiet.

And one day, I’ll wake up, and it will all be real, and i'll write about it.