I am probably one of the few people who derive some form of happiness by looking at maps. I look at the blue and red lines darting left and right, the jigsaw puzzle edges of islands, the blue which stands for a body of water and get a sense of joy through this. I imagine oceansides marked with You are Here and picture us standing on a beach, with our feet wet from the tide, somewhere, waiting for the waves to wash the sand ashore.
A map is always a reminder and a promise: places we have been to, places we will go to. I imagine the future to be a narrative on this terrain, memories and times when you and I are holding each others’ hand while sitting beside each other–on a bus or a train–waiting to go down and stretch our feet on a province we have only read about in maps.
Dear Future Love, I think about all the places you have been to–all the places in your map, marked in the past–and I think about going there again, in the future. I think about this future, the imaginary lines we will mark on a map’s terrain, and you–most of all I think of you–and know that the future looks lovely with you in it.