Written by Angela Su from New Orleans, Louisiana, USA I am always circling back to things I meant to leave behind my mother’s keys hitting the glass bowl by the door, the smell of my grandpa’s closet, the way the shadows look through tent fabric at noon. I am always folding the map wrong, creasing the edges until the town names disappear. Shortcut, foolproof, auto-corrected– everything is optimized these days. Letting a road surprise you is now a memory drifting like faded in
