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I am a water bottle

How things change and no one knows

By Bevan Tse-stuartPublished 7 months ago 2 min read
I am a water bottle
Photo by Steve Johnson on Unsplash

I guess I’ve always been a water bottle

A clear plastic bottle, no label no straw no design

Just a plain water bottle

I started my life filled with just that. Fresh water

From a spring that’s been filtered and cleaned

But I grew in life, I opened up, collected things, small bits that I could hold

I poured out a little water to hold some cordial because I’m sweet,

A space for the vitamin tablets because I have health

A touch of oil and grease from the food I enjoy coming off my lips

and whenever my bottle ran low I topped it up, with the water in the spring flowing from my heart

But I was always still fresh water that was put there by love

Clean maybe not but still drinkable

Still enjoyable and something you’d be happy to sip from. something you needed

But you changed that

You poured out so much,

And you filled it with brine

You changed my manageable sweet taste

For something completely unstomachable

You never emptied me but you took enough

Enough that the salt you added is the strongest flavour

To the point I am no longer sweet

I no longer hold my heath in me

Nor the flavours I remember

Not the love I filled myself with

And now it hurts to drink

My lips crack and bleed when I drink and I add a bit of hatred with each drop of blood that mingles

Or a shot of pain for each tear that finds its way in

And I know I could empty out my bottle

And completely start again

Fresh water from a tap,

More cordial from the bottle,

More vitamins from my tablets

More oil from my lips

But I’d never be the same

Because the brine you poured was too concentrated

It makes me want to punch a hole in the bottom and let everything drain out

But then I’d never fill up to the top again

I’d never be fulfilled completely

I’d be empty,

No cordial nor vitamins nor oil would ever grace me again

But I am a bottle and with enough water one day the salt will be gone

The tears will be memory

And the blood will wash out

One day

I’ll be fresh water again

And I’ll never let anyone near my bottle again

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About the Creator

Bevan Tse-stuart

coping with depression. Mostly just me venting but any love is appreciated

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Comments (1)

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  • Michael Joseph7 months ago

    This is a powerful metaphor. I've had similar experiences where something good turned bad. It's tough to let go of the past, but sometimes it's the only way to move forward.

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