short fiction · 2026-10-15

Inner Atlas

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

I am the cartographer of my own inner atlas, where latitudes are longings and longitudes are losses. I trace the rivers of thought that flow into seas of doubt, and mark the mountains of joy with flags of fleeting light. Each contour line is a breath held, each valley a whispered secret. I navigate not with compass but with curiosity, and find that the territory is always redrawing itself, as if the map were alive, breathing with my pulse.