I pulled out an old map crumpled forlorn

I pulled out an old map, crumpled, forlorn,

its edges were fraying, like dreams left unworn.

Lines traced my future, but where did they lead?

Each mark a reminder of promises freed.

Fingers wandered the curves of this paper’s embrace,

finding towns I imagined, but never would face.

The blank spaces glared, like paths I once sought,

a journey abandoned, with nothing I fought.

So much planned and plotted, yet here I remain,

a wanderer lost in a territory plain.

I fold it away, close it tight to my chest—

it whispers of wanderlust that I never addressed.