Fulfillment

And so it began, a painfully beautiful journey through lost lands. Over rough terrain for weeks upon days upon months, melting together in a torrent of it. "It". It was why we came, with our spears and our pencils and our guitars and our mops. To find "it." To see "it". To touch "it." To feel it. IT. It. "It". Hundreds of us, cluttered legs and lonely souls running and walking and leaping and bounding. After it. It. Knees down or hands up or knives out and teeth bared. We had to find it, risking everything, at the cost of every other thing. We needed it. But it continues, our epically unsatisfied journey through tragic seas. Under lightning skies for years upon hours upon decades, clumping together in a mess of it. "It". It was why we've come, with our daggers and our cameras and our brushes and our shovels. To find "it." To smell "it". To taste "it." To have it. Hundreds of thousands of thousands of us, barefoot and wide eyed running and walking and leaping and bounding. After it. It. Knees down or hands up or knives out and teeth bared. We have to find it, risking everything, at the cost of every other thing. We need it.