The cartographers came to fill in the gaps. They painted hills and valleys, drew rivers and forests, marked out tracks in the dirt.
Our horizons were sketched and we stood at the edge of the village to marvel as they coloured in the landscape around us.
What once was empty was now redrawn.
I thought of her: the one who left. The one who walked away into the white emptiness.
The cartographer was packing away his brushes when I approached. I gave him a smile. Don’t suppose you’re any good at hearts?