I am the island. Between myself and the rest of the known world are vast, trackless expanses of wet desert. No one comes to my shores, and the life within them is bound by the endless blue. When the storms come and go, there is nothing to fortify my beaches, no force to rebuild my fauna.

I am the sailor. Across the waters of possibilities I pass. I am the bearer of goodwill, of economy, of life. On my ship, I carry the esoteric and exotic wisdom of far off lands. But in me, there is no rest, and I long for solid ground, a place to call home. I long for the world to bring me herself.

I am the ocean. My shallows teem with life, and my reefs reveal the vivid colors of a world that moves and breathes. But I am a world, beyond borders. My depths are dark, unreachable, unsearchable, unfathomable. I am the cold killer and those who come to me without knowledge of this will perish in solitary graves, and I will consume them.

I am the terra sola. Unique in a family of celestial bodies. I am neither the first, nor the last. I am stable, and constant in my ways. But there is no other like me, and when one looks to the stars, they will say “how rare this small place is.”

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