Hiraeth

The smell of the sea and the sand and the seaweed and the rocks.

The bubbles that rise in your chest as you meander through quiet, mossy woodland.

The ache of driving along old tarmac, the paths and bus stops and parks much closer together than your memory recalls.

The knot in your throat as you thumb through old photographs of places and people gone by.

The feeling of belonging and longing and homesickness for something that is no longer or has never been.