Just off the coast, a scant few metres from the shore, there sits a little island. You won't have heard of it, but perhaps you've been there, once or twice - It's not a place you name, so much as a place you know. The closest name anybody ever found for it was home.

It's a place where you don't have to hide - there are no predators, or people who mean you harm. Depending on where and when you go, in fact, there might not be any people, but that's alright because it's hard to feel lonely here. Not when the sun is so warm, but the breeze softly ripples the sand and works as a natural air conditioner. The waves brush the shore like a monther stroking her child's brow, murmuring her lullaby in an undercurrent which is barely noticable but constantly soothing. The sea itself mirrors the sky perfectly, aside from the bright speckles of light leaping like dolphins from every ripple's crest.

And the sand. Where else could you find sand which must surely be made up of tiny rolls of silk and sea glass diamonds, stolen from the dress of an egyptian princess? To lie on the sand is to rest on a bed designed for a deity and given to a mortal. The surface having been kept warm by the sun, with tiny hotspots of glass, the varying temperatures blend into the back like ink bleeding through fabric, as the vibrant green trees hold up the royal blue canopy above.

In fact, I lie - the canopy is blue and white, as clouds slide slowly across the sky. Each one seems vaguely sculpted into some multi-form creature or object. You can see what you choose, in these clouds. You might see your cat curled into a misshapen lump, or maybe a dragon as it breaks through and drifts towards its home, dissolving slowly into where it belongs - in dreams.

No matter what you see, however, there is no doubt that on this island, you are not quite alone. The form of your company might be debatable. Perhaps you could call it your soul, or mother nature, or simple memories of love and sentiment. Or perhaps there is no need for company here. Perhaps the seasong and the listening ear in the clouds is enough to be there for you. Perhaps even you could say that companions are with you. A loved and cherished one, after all, created this island for you, whether that may be yourself, a friend, family, a lover, a pet, perhaps even a spirit guide.

But this world was made for you. Not for money, or out of obligation, but because somebody out there loves you enough to weave that silk, and paint those clouds, and polish those multi-coloured diamonds scattered across the shore.

The sad thing is, they'll never chart this island on a map. Many will tell you it doesn't exist, many more will even believe it doesn't exist. And still more who believe it won't dare set foot on its shore, in case there's a sharp diamond which makes them bleed, or in case they should spend too long there and the sun should burn their skin for all its gentle intentions. Some don't even dare make the swim. But dive right in, my friend. I helped to make this place for you, and I promise that If I've done anything wrong with my polishing and the glass cuts your feet, I'll spend the rest of my life repolishing every piece.