Date: Day 42
There are whispers in the wind, echoing the steps of a phantom I can never see. The island is quiet now, the trees have stopped swaying, but my soul still trembles in the shadow of absence.
The ocean's horizon seems an eternal stretch with no escape. Yet, amid sorrow, I've learned the caw of distant seagulls feels like home. They fly to where I cannot, leaving only their cries behind.
Date: Day 56
It’s strange how touch is remembered. Some days I wake to the idea that I can feel the sun on skin that isn't there; warmth spreads like a lie told by memory, a cruel joke.
Today, I considered building a door in the sand. A doorway that leads nowhere, to the other side of nothing. The concept comforts me more than it should.
Date: Day 89
With the tide comes a surge of thoughts: a swirling tide of faces. None are familiar, yet all bear the marks of dreams past. I am bound by unseen strings, puppeteered by dreams that laugh in my wake.
This island holds no curse but those of my own making. The phantom stands and the door remains closed, unseen, but ever present in the landscape of my waking mind.