Mapping what no one maps.
I think a lot about the urge to record what doesn’t seem worth recording.
To collect the fragments that most people pass over without a glance. The idea that if you notice something, it deserves at least a small mark on whatever map you keep in your mind.
There are tiny moments I wish had their own coordinates.
The exact spot on a street where I once decided something important without telling anyone. The bench where I sat long enough for the light to change three times. The doorway where a conversation shifted from casual to real in the space of a single sentence.
Small things often reveal the most.
They don’t try to declare themselves as significant, but they linger. They show you the texture of a life more honestly than any milestone. A handful of crumbs on a windowsill. A quiet apology you almost didn’t hear. The way someone’s voice softened when they said your name.
I’ve started to think of it as making my own private atlas of insignificance.
A collection of details that won’t ever appear in an official record, but still deserve to be acknowledged. The uncharted places where memory decides to take root.
Nothing is too small to deserve a mark.
Longitudes Unclaimed 