The Wall

I built this island for myself. The tide erases whatever is written in sand, so I cut what I want to keep into stone, wood and rope.

The wall says how the island began. The board holds a notch for every day. The rope between the rocks ties down what I must not forget. The sand is scattered with small things. In the waves are the people I have met. After dark another island surfaces, and that one is only for me and a few invited guests.

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