Hiraeth

I left home, walked for a million miles away from it,

But the memories stuck on to me till date. 

How could I leave them behind? 

Ever since I stepped out of that house, it is the only fresh reminiscence in my mind. 

A 6-month-old me was carried into the home that I cannot now call mine. 

Being carried in was easy, but walking out of the house permanently was onerous. 

I am not homeless, but a place where I learned my firsts was my home. 

It aches to describe it in the past tense because that is where my friends and I dreamt of a future. 

Talking of firsts, the home was where I planted my first tree. It was a mango tree. 

When I walked out of the house, it had grown to my knee. 

I had felt pain for the first time in the house too, the pain that I still carry. 

I came across a word today, Hiraeth. The reason why I rode into the past. 

There is no exact meaning to this Welsh word in English, but it is a combination of the homesickness, longing, nostalgia, and yearning, for a home that you cannot return to, no longer exists, or maybe never was.

I laughed at the word because crying would ruin my makeup. 

With a heart so heavy I declare, Hiraeth to me is House number 1144. A house that I once called home. A nostalgia that will be my favorite indulgent. A yearning so deep, and a longing to encounter it all, once more.