• hiraeth_whispers 6w


    It’s not a place,
    It’s the smells
    The sounds
    The memory that lingers
    In the back of your mind
    The flutter in your chest
    The way the wind catches your hair
    The echo of voices
    Resonating throughout
    It’s bare feet on a cloudy day
    Sand buckets and distant shadows
    Of ships on the horizon
    It’s the quiet nights
    That were never truly quiet
    It’s harsh words
    And violence
    It’s survival and disgust
    But it is, and will always be