It was another scorching day on this wretched island, I can't bear it, the heat is burning my delicate skin. I never liked the sun.
If someone else wound up on this island, they could have called it near heaven; there's white sand, water and a few palm trees. Personally, I prefer to sit on the grass in the pure shade, the sand gets in my toes and the feeling makes me lurch.
Today, I found a fruit tree. This somehow, in a peculiar way makes the lonliness and isolation a little less painful, life is a little more bearable. The memories of my urban past seem to be the best pastime; they seem almost soothing give me a sense of optimism that somebody might be looking for me, missing me, wishing I was with them and safe in their arms.
It's certain that I won't survive here forever.
Why am i so pessimistic? I know the fruit tree gives me comfort but it is often not enough to keep my spirits high. I'm convinced I'll go mad. When I was alone at home in the city I used to talk to myself because I thought my life was bad then...
I guess I was wrong.