Hiraeth is a Welsh word for homesickness or nostalgia, an earnest longing or desire, or a sense of regret. The feeling of longing for a home that never was. A deep and irrational bond felt with a time, era, place or person.

 

“Do you remember?”

He was accustomed to this, the words that appeared before any indication she was fully awake.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he glanced over his shoulder, twisting a bit to face her, messy morning hair framing a quiet smile. He found himself smiling back.

“Remember what?” Realizing she had his attention, her arms snaked from under the covers, wrapped his waist and pulled herself against him before responding.

“Do you remember that morning when we woke before dawn, bags already packed and waiting by the door, you had coffee and a smoke, I had tea and a shower. We slipped out the door into the crispness of spring and slid into a cab. I love going to the airport when it’s so early.. I know, I love going to the airport anytime…” she sensed his imminent interruption and turned her head to playfully nip at the leg her cheek rested on. “Now let me finish.”

She felt him relax as he lifted a hand to brush the hair from her face. She considered opening an eye, thought better of it, gave him a lopsided smile instead, and settled back into the story.

“That feeling of not even lining up to get through security, of settling in to wait even before the majority of things are open, as though we were slipping unnoticed out of the country, off the continent. Away to a place where we had only a smattering of the language, a hint of the culture, and a grand sense of adventure. And time. To explore, to see all the places we’d only read about, dreamed about. To have a sense of time, but not in a way that was urgent or overwhelming, but weighty and impressive nonetheless. What a lovely time that was. I miss Japan.”

She could feel his gaze, bemused and incredulous. “We’ve never been to Japan.”

“Yet.”