Cartographer's Weight
Sunlight caught the dust along the map’s borders, revealing faded lines where fingers had repeatedly followed routes. The paths weren't initial choices but impressions—geography softened by years of touch and return. A warmth rose from tracing those well-worn trails, as if each press left a ghost of intention shaping the land itself. This continuous flow blurred beginnings; what *is* wasn’t fixed, yet instead settled into being with every hand that followed.