Maps

This map has grown lines, deep creases, curled corners, since you've been gone. Tear-stains and fingerprints mar its wrinkled pages like scars, mocking markers of where you've gone. Mum's face has grown lines around her mouth and eyes since you've been gone. And each sunrise tallies the days, fading the map's mosaic of colours as time fades the memory of your silly smile. This map is a liar: It tells me you're nearby, only a page-length away. But an entire world separates us. Cities and countries and continents. Rivers and lakes and oceans. Land and sea have taken you from me. And I want you back.