The Cartographer

I am drawing a map of a country that changes its borders overnight. Rivers of silence flood the valleys, mountains of anger block the light. My compass spins with a child’s terror, my ink is the grey of a missing hour. I chart the coast of a familiar stranger, who borrows my voice,who owns my power. This map is not for the tourist’s viewing, it’s stained with tears and written in code. It’s the chronicle of our ruin and brewing, the only safe way to carry the load. A map of broken mirrors, each shard holds a name, and I trace the cracks,learning to love the same.