Many sailors had come and gone, mere visitors to this island. Fleeting memories of such, still clogs the minds, dusky and dark. And then there were the few that stayed along, and made such a deep impact, that the island thought of them to be an ingrained part of itself. It grew accustomed to them being around, waking up to them every new morning; bidding them bye at each sundown, only to see them the following morning.
The island needed both. It needed the visitors, to keep it alive in the heart, a new chirp in the voice, brought by the sailor from a distant land. It needed the regulars to go back to at the end of the day, to sleep in the assurance that no matter the Sturm Und Drang, there was peace.
And thus, the island breathed along, day in and out, unquestioned by the system; standing tall with each lashing tide, chest held high to the sky.
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