Fernweh

There's a place that exists in the deepest reaches of my mind. Somewhere I created....I don't remember when. Or why. But it's there. It's been a long time since I've seen it, and to be honest I think it's long since been abandoned.
 
It's nothing like where I came from. No darkened skies and heavy snowfall. No ice-slick rivers or empty parks featuring neglected playgrounds. No naked trees or sad thorny shrubs dotting the landscape, because that's all that can grow through the permafrost. No neighborhoods locked up tight against the cold, thick black columns of smoke wafting from their chimneys in a sad attempt to thaw what the climate has long since frozen over.
 
No lonely children wandering the desolate streets because their house is like a prison.
 
Nah, none of that. This place is balmy and breezy, lush and green *everywhere*. The sun hangs boldly at the top of the sky and it warms my skin straight through to the bone. Probably burns my pasty ass too, but it's worth it for a warmth I've never felt. There are flowers, *so many flowers*, and my eyes almost go dizzy at the array of colors, but I can't stop looking at them, counting and identifying each variety. There's soft music coming from somewhere—I can't trace where—but it's *so* nice, *so* calming and soothing, and it makes me forget everything I feel, everything I am, even just for a moment. I can sigh for once, I can breathe for once, I can soften for once. Something sweet glides on the air here, pastries and freshly baked bread or something, and it doesn't make me ravenous so much as weighed down with comfort. Muted murmuring and warm laughter dances in tandem with the wind and scents and in the very depths of my soul I can feel it.
 
It's safe here.
 
I imagine this is what home should feel like. Someplace where your heart can rest. Where you don't need to constantly look over your shoulder or curl into a ball against the biting cold or dread another night drenched by rain. A place where your demons can still see you, but not swallow you whole. Maybe you break bread with them instead. Maybe you invite them in, but on your own terms. Maybe you offer them tea and ask them to stay and chat for a while. It's not scary though, because you know you're safe.
 
I don't know why I'm reminded of this now, especially considering I don't often remember much these days.
 
Is there a word for feeling homesick for somewhere you've never been? Can you miss a home you've never had?