The Island That Nobody Talks About

The Island, is not found on any map.

Nor is it found with the most adance satelities.

You've been, there before. I have too.

But, we won't agree on what it looks like. For me it has black sand, sticking to me like a distant memory. You would have sworn it was pearl white signaling it's purety as it shines in the moonlight.

The island is alway's been there. Centuries even Eons old.

Yet, every description has been different and, that's the only thing people have been agreeing on.

The island.It shows up in ordinary moment.

When people been going to the supermarket.

When they have been staying at home.

Nothing in particular is needed.

No special condition, you can't travel to it as one normally would.

Interuption of our reality, just enough to make you pause, to make you hesitate in the moment.

Streets that feel familiar to you, the one that you travel on to commute daily yet, slightly misaligned.

Conversation that loops around for a second too long then it should have been

That room, where you sworn, you've been in before, but unable to place when.

People don't give it a name.

It's in a pause, feeling more like a glitch in the Matrix.

Moving on the same, nothing happened, everything back to normal.

Thought to think about it, there's not, for it has already happened.

The most certainty you have, is that the moment it is over, you feel the same.

Disturbed, not because it's obvious. It's the sign of nothing being enough to explain it.

Everything resumes unchanged.

To vague to grasp, the words missing to make it clear.

Like a void you want to speak out but, the words are missing.

None-existing words are needed. For conversations that cannot be.

So you hear it in the unspoken words, never directly said.

Trying to force it would give it a fixed point, a shape.

The island, refuses that by nature. It changes, it adapts.

To the person experiencing it can recognize.

It's in dreams, a reflection, it's the part missing our rather it's the one we can grasp but, not enough.

And, that disturbs us humans, for we want to make sense of things.

It unsettles us, it bugs us as we move on.

In routie, silently in the background.

Copied grestured filling it. We seen it before, we know it yet, we are unable to quite place it.

It's in a sound that arrives a fraction of a second to early.

It's in the sense of a moment, we knew that happened before, yet the memory to support it, is absent.

It stirs, it's lingers but, it's not dramatic.

Ignoring it is easy, subtle enough, which is how it stay's.

People have tried to make it tangible to make it anything less then fiction, they used a million, billion of words to describe it. Only for it to ending in failure. They overcomplexed it, while it was not, they oversimplified it's complexity when it was anything but...

The smartest, the creativest, they all tried it so far. Using a variety of methode, yet the island resisted being made consistent.

The more they tried, on defying it, the less stable the vision became, structed words became rattled. Rattle words became, nonsense.

Inconsitency, is the most stable feature.

An orgin story, debatable.

The arrival point, uncertain.

The direction, unknown,

The sense of awarneness, touching something unreachable. Just out of grapsh before it can be called.

The island itself is not the island itself, it's the knowledge the recogniton, between unfamiliarity, and memory, the borden between consious and, been.

Your mind needs no description, it already knows how it feels, it was there in the first 4 years of memories we lost as the mind rewired itself completly.

You ask yourself a lingering thought, coming to mind.

"Have I been there ?" The question it's not.

That's to safe, it's more personal.

It's not just a physical nor a mentally place to go. For it's already embeded in perception.