Wrong Person, Write Love.

Prose 021: Hiraeth

Every once in a while, there are moments of vulnerability that keep on reminding me of that place I've considered my home five years ago. These moments usually occur with a sign, though, just like the gentle tapping of the rain on the roof, the deep and tiresome sighs that come from my mouth, or the loud ticking of the clock amidst the deafening silence.

It's amazing, I realized, yet heart breaking how time can take away the things that were so precious to us. But whenever I think or tried to write about it, I just cannot finish the words I wanted to say because I know it isn't time that I should blame for all of these regrets I have been feeling.

Regrets, yes, and longing. For the next few months ever since I left that place, I've tried my best to forget about all the things I've did and felt there with you. I've tried to forget those people who've unexpectedly made a big impact to what and who I am right now—even if I never really knew or met them in the first place. I've lived my life how I did before and just like how I should, but no matter what I did, I just can't help but reminisce about the place that I know I can never go back to even if I cried and dream again.

I know this, because I've tried it a couple of times already. Whenever I felt like I don't belong to anywhere in this world, I visit that place. It's still the same—everything is still fictitious. Nothing is real. What did I expect from RPW, right? But what pains me more is that it doesn't give me the comfort like the way it did before. I was there—no, I am here, but it felt like I never was.

It's frustrating, having to be somewhere that feels so familiar yet foreign at the same time.

Perhaps, that's because you're no longer here. I was the one who left you behind, but I am the one who's waiting for you to come back. I even hate myself for feeling betrayed that you have already forgotten about me and that you have already gone on with your life.

But just like what I said from the start, this is yet just another moment of vulnerability. Time has already passed, and I am no longer that fifteen-year-old girl whose only dream is to love and be loved. I know well that I can always go back to this place—but never to the person I've once considered my home.

Because maybe, you never really was.

- Aries, "Hiraeth."