who woulda thunk it?

The map—
The well loved to a fault map
With its pink highlighted trails,
Lingering coffee stains and fingerprints,
Markings of crevasses and passes to take
Or to avoid;
Crystal lakes and rope swings,
Rivers of hydration,
And cities of wild, unplanned amusement

This map—
Wrinkled and smeared;
Penned and coded with
Euphoric scribbles
Of staked-out claims to travel,
Of plans to make,
Of roads already taken

My map—
With thoughts of
Things to do and have done;
Thoughts of
Need to, want to, will do
Dreams of a world so large…

Never did I imagine that
My favorite adventure
May lie in the house next door.