The persistent notion I can never seem to shake off is that I am desperately homesick, but for a home I don’t know.
This hiraeth really is hard to explain, even to myself. It’s not a rational thought.
Sometimes (especially when listening to music with the right atmosphere) it’s like I’m right on the verge of finding|remembering that world|home. Maybe it’s a when instead of a where. Or an if rather than a was.
I’m not sure. I’m just worn out by the abject feeling of being alone, of feeling immaterial, while I look for whatever that home is.