Regular maps have few surprises: their contour lines reveal where the Andes are, and are reasonably clear. More precious, though, are the unpublished maps we make ourselves, of our city, our place, our daily world, our life; those maps of our private world we use every day; here I was happy, in that place I left my coat behind after a party, that is where I met my love; I cried there once, I was heartsore; but felt better round the corner once I saw the hills of Fife across the Forth, things of that sort, our personal memories, that make the private tapestry of our lives.
Alexander McCall Smith
The roads we take are our connection to our surrounding as well as to our inner life.
While we move in the outside world, our mind wanders to what moves us on the inside and takes us to unexpected places sometimes. The smell of summer and you're walking in the fields again when you were so in love. That bridge and you remember driving over it, listening to that song that you shared with somebody and your heart starts racing again. Some corners in our world will always belong to somebody we loved and remind us of that certain sad or happy, always intense, moment. It's the map of our soul and the corner stones are made of memories.
"I think I've crossed the Rubicon"