Fernweh
Standing at an airport departures board, reading out Windhoek and Montevideo, and aching to go somewhere you have never been.
Feelings tied to where you are, where you were, or where you have never been.
Standing at an airport departures board, reading out Windhoek and Montevideo, and aching to go somewhere you have never been.
A Welsh nurse in a London flat hears a male voice choir through the wall and grieves for a valley, and people, she cannot get back.
The wrong-footed quiet of a stadium concourse the morning after a game, or any room built for a crowd and standing empty.
The new hire, months in, who still does not know whose mug is whose: the slow, ongoing mismatch of a person and a place that never quite fits.
Dropping the little Street View figure onto a random road in Kazakhstan and knowing that this, a fence and a gas station, is as close as you will get.
Two hours past the last marked trail in a beech wood, the road noise gone and nobody since the car park, and glad of it.
Refreshing a page of cheap flights at midnight with a full week of work ahead, wanting to be on any road but this one.