Lonely island

The coast of this lonely island has become very familiar to me. I know every rock, every tree. I have drawn strange letters to the sand by my finger. Strange words which meaning i don't understand. Messages and letters for nobody. Footprints. I have sat many nights on the rock or wandered around with nothing to do, no one to talk with. Except the moon that is just arising from the horizon.

Sometimes everything here seems very harmonic and i really enjoy being in this hidden place. Sometimes it feels like this island gives me a reason of some kind. This is my little home. My place of safety from the ugly grey world. Or am i just wrapping myself up in prejudices? Am i just a craven making excuses to stay in the arms of the silence until it makes me insane?

It's hard to see a way out when it's stormy and the open sea is black. No light spots. No ships. But there are clear days when i can see a land on the horizon. Far away land that is calling me to build a little ferry and sail there. I belong there, it tells. I am just wasting my life. No one can live like this forever. But this island has made me numb. How can i make a ferry? It will take many hours. And how can i raise and let my hand to row it? I am so sleepy. If the sea is very wavy it will be hard to sail away. And the sea is wavy day after another blue day.