When was the last time I took a breath?

It couldn’t have been too long ago, could it have? Honestly, I don’t remember that much from after I left home. Maybe dying makes you forget the good things.

I remember going to church when I was younger, yet the only lesson I can recall, perhaps because it’s the only one applicable to me anymore, was about the afterlife. The pastor always made it sound like there were two options of where you go once you die, a land of white and gold or one of flames. However, the afterlife I was left to consisted of being utterly encompassed in an eternal state of hiraeth.

The home that beckons me is one hidden behind a forest of wisteria. It’s a home that never was. A small house is all that sings its song to me. The chirp of a lone passerine is all that calls me in. The doors open themselves, yet, forever, I will be unable to go inside.

The home that never was will never be mine.

From now until the end of time, all I’ll know or remember is this hiraeth.