The waves of water drift to shore, waving lazily. The wind, so relaxed today, makes nary a whisper. Sand lies where it wants, finding its way into places where it really shouldn't but does anyway, as usual.

This is my island. I like my island, it has everything I need here! The trees are bountiful, their fruits always filling. If I'm in the mood for seafood, I can just stroll on down to the shore and toss a line to the waves, or just grab a big crab. The sun shines bright, so I usually frolic in whatever field of flowers I feel like. It's never stormy down here, as rain only comes once in a week, so I can usually do whatever I please whenever I please. The sunsets here are beautiful, the way the orange and purple rays play out across the shimmering water is a delight every time.

I love this place. I don't think I'll ever leave.
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It was a day like any other, me going by myself for a stroll on the beach, nobody else around except I. But there was something different about that day. That something was not from my island.

A message in a little glass bottle, sitting on the sandy shore.

A stranger to this land, foreigner from far away. An innocent, yet insidious thing. Who knows what lies inside, with the power to make or break everything on this island, everything I have.

Better throw it away, I think as I ready my arm.

But then again, my curiosity gets the better of me.

Pop. The bottle is open. The piece of parchment is plucked from its place, and paper is pulled from curled to straight.

...

Huh. Nothing but a bunch of drivel. Might as well have tossed it to the waves then, wouldn't make much difference either way.
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I see. I see what it meant now. I see, and now I know what I lack.

I see it in my meals, for a feast of boiled turtle, roasted iguana, fried eel, and sauteed crab, with bulbous mushrooms on each flank, topped with mashed berries for sauce, and fermented juice to wash it all down, cannot replace what I lack.

I see it in my bright, cloudless days spent frolicking in flower fields, for the sweet scent of freshly picked flora on a brisk, tropical breeze, cannot replace what I lack.

I see it in my my sunsets, for the display of bright pinks, yellows, oranges, and purples descending from the heavens to play on the delighted greens and blues of the ocean water, shimmering with light and reflecting the all that had come to play and the joy that it feels, cannot replace what I lack.

I see it in my nights, when all these things are stripped from me, and I am left with only my cold, dark thoughts. I cannot replace what I lack.

I see it everywhere, because I lack it everywhere.

I want it.
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I have decided. I can stand this lack no longer. I will leave this island, sail across the stormy seas in search of what I lack.

It will be a long and perilous journey. I will have to sail for an unknown amount of time across an unknown distance in unknown territory in search of an unknown thing, of which it is unknown if I will be able to find, and if I were to find, it would still be unknown if I would be able to obtain the thing I lack, or if I will be turned away at the gate.

Still, to die in pursuit of it would be better than to live in its absence, and of this I am certain.

I look at my island for one last time. I loved it, and I hate to leave it for a place that might be worse, might not have as much delicious food, might not have such beautiful weather or fresh meadows, or even might not have as good sunsets. Still, I hate this lack more. I must give up my island for this thing that I lack. It is a good trade.
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It has been a long time. I have been sailing these seas for... I don't even know anymore.

The waves push and pull me wherever they may. I am subject to the whims of the wind. I have no defining landmarks to orient myself and my sails beyond the stars, and my grasp on astrology is tenuous at best.

I had the good fortune to have brought large stores of food, yet they are already halfway depleted. I have been rationing more and more, wondering exactly how far I can stretch the definition of ‘meal'. It will most likely not be enough.

I do not know how much longer this voyage will last, or if I will even live to see it's end. All I know, is that I must continue my search.

Still, I do not regret embarking on this voyage, this search for what I lack. It may have chained me to a little plot of land that is so small that one could easily jump over it lengthwise, starved me beyond what one should normally starve, and burnt my skin so thoroughly that each inch stings at the barest touch, but I cannot say that I regret any of this. It was worth it, of this I am certain.

I close my eyes, resting in preparation for the next unknown I might find next.

"Hark! Is that another man I see? Hello there, fellow pilgrim! May I have the fortune of calling you friend?"