what is it like, to be human?
i stand in the middle of nowhere and ask this abrupt question. i hold onto the hollow trunk of the tree, too afraid that the strong wind might carry me away.
but i don't stay there for long. always moving, always searching. even when i've maybe found what i was looking for. i cannot stay still. not anymore.
everything gets louder when it is silent. it is strange sometimes, this world. deranged love. guilt for the crimes, and crimes for the guilt. i wish that everytime you hurt me i wouldn't be digging for the good in you until my fingernails bleed. i thought i knew who i was and yet i do strange things that i don't understand.
maybe that's what it is.
to be human, is to feel like we're everything but human.
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Hiraeth: A Collection of Poems
PoetryHiraeth: a Welsh concept of longing for home. A type of homesickness, but for a home that you can't return to, or one that perhaps never existed. Aren't we all looking for home?
