We leave a part of us every time we move forward in life, and sometimes, we turn back and look at those aged memories and long for them.
Here is an ode to the memories lost, memories that are now a hiraeth,
a homesickness.
Hireath: (n)
A homesickness for a home you can't return to, or that never was.
For the home I haven't yet returned to.
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A book of poems and the occasional response to writing prompts.
Or both.
My escape when I can't find it in real life.