This is a dream.

Staring at a sunset on a beach, the water laps at the feet - the eddies as they pass around the heel move the sand, the heels sink. A coffee cup keeps you company, its familiar weight comfortable in the left hand. The wind blows through your hair, the salt breeze sticky upon your skin, the sea breeze scent surrounds.

The sun, in its infinite wisdom, falls below the horizon. Turning around, you view the dark silhouettes and the reflection of the moon off the microcosms of broken shells, reminders that the sea is old. It is smooth but... there, you see footprints above the shoreline, someone having walked along the shore past you even as the sun began its respite.

A curious thing. You thought you were alone.

You follow the footsteps - an even stride, unhurried, the toes digging into the sand deeper for purchase as they roll along the axis of the ball of the foot. Small feet, but not that of a child. The depth of the prints indicates a person light of weight, the closed stride an indicator of gender. Where is this person? What are they doing on your island, where you are supposed to be alone - your books and poems for company? A trespasser, but not one that hides - but one that is hidden.

Following the footsteps, you find places where they are missing - the rising of the tide perhaps washing some away. On faith you continue, following the shoreline - your feet in the water out of habit, a soft splash accompanies you on the journey as the surf continues in the background. You find the prints continuing to circle the island, never turning to the center of the island - the place of safety, where one can be undisturbed, but on the periphery. How did they get here? Why are they here? You follow, these questions finding no answers in the silent trail of prints.

The sun begins to rise, you see this and welcome new light for fresh clues, continuing on.

And in the distance, suddenly, you see someone staring at the sun rise. A cup in their hand not unlike your own, their hair in the wind, blowing, their feet this time in the water - not you. Looking behind you, you see new prints... your own, as you had started walking in the sand as the sun rose.

This is not a dream.