The Map - Original Poetry

The Map
By @thehattedtomfool

The map is empty,
cold at night,
the hotel room is still.
Staring at a wallet photo
missing who I will.

The map is sparse,
the sun is hot,
I open up the tent.
A single mattress lines the dirt.
The message at last sent!

The map is filling,
a blizzard rages.
I stoke the burning hearth.
I check the time due for your flight,
delayed, but down on earth.

The map is full,
the nights are cold
but we stole a blanket from the plane.
I close the map, you open yours,
"Shall we go around again?"