The Cartographer's Last Map

She drew the coastline from memory, the way her father's hands moved— one long hesitation, then certainty.

The harbor she gave too much blue. The lighthouse stood where it no longer stands. She did not correct this.

Some places only exist in the rendering. The road she walked at seventeen bends here, not there, because she was afraid and turned left instead.

There are cities on her map that were never built, only wanted— their grids precise, their fountains drawn with the finest nib she owned.

When they found the map after, they thought she had made errors. They did not understand that all her errors were on purpose, that a map can be true and still be wrong about everything.