The Cartographer

Sleeping is difficult because she never knows which direction she’ll be facing when she wakes up. If she wakes up with her face greeting the ceiling, she will stay still for a moment — slowly breathing — to take in the blank white space above her. If she finds herself on her side, she will expect to see his face inches away from hers, but instead, will only find her hand clutching the sheets of her bed. Sometimes, she wakes up with her face buried in her pillow and is tricked back to sleep by the soft darkness until either of the two previously discussed possibilities occur. Maybe that’s why she finds herself by the window late at night, staring out into the world with her hand out and waiting for it to give her something back. Of course, the world doesn’t answer most times and her hand feels laden with emptiness. So she sits and counts the passing cars, filling the empty crevices between her fingers with her own, though it’s not the same. Eventually, when enough time has passed, she’ll get up and crawl into bed. She’ll close her eyes and wonder what direction he’ll be facing when he wakes up — and whose strange face will he see.