I’m really done. I finally did it! I never even thought I could do it. I walked into my favorite fast food chain. “I’ll take a soda, light ice!” I mumbled happily. I walked home and entered my newly painted room. I didn’t know the coke would cause more trouble than I thought.
When Dan was angry, she didn’t lash out like Luc or curse your descendants like Emrys. Instead, Dan went silent; eerily so. She kept her emotions carefully weighed down and bottled up inside her.
What a dangerous way to live, Olwen thought. Even the slightest carelessness could cause devastating ruin when the bottle finally broke.
It was azure blue, the color she’d imagined far away Italian seas looked like. It had a rough cloudy sheen on the outside, and looked like it contained shells. Shells from those far away seas, maybe? The ones she’d never seen?
She contemplated the bottle and promptly began to ignore her surroundings.
I have a lot I can say about this. I can tell you that the first thing I thought of when I saw this word was an old glass one, lying on a beach, the water rushing up to it and back away. The paper inside it, with a message from someone way back somewhere who had enough hope to send it. I can tell you that I thought of nights sitting in a rocking chair, holding the baby, tilting it a little more so she could get the last few drops; wondering why I’d stopped breast feeding, then reassuring myself that it wouldn’t change her personality for the worse forever. I could tell you that I thought about a big one, sitting on a desk, filled with coins, mostly quarters. The jar of all the money that would’ve been spent buying cigarettes, but that instead would pay for a reward that said, You did it. You quit. I can tell you that I thought about any of these first, but it would be such a lie. Because there is only one bottle I think of. The one filled with alcohol. The plague. The scourge. The end of normal, the beginning of pain, the reason things fell apart and never got put back together again. Here I stop. Because one is calling me right now.
The words were spoken but they just hung in the air. There were no willing ears to listen. Like a message in a bottle sent out to sea with no destination.
The bottle is so good to put everything inside, with it we can keep water and another liquids.
I prefer drinking in a bottle instead of drinking in a can, it’s more healthy.
This is a bottle and I wrote about it yesterday. I would like a new word now please thank you that’d be cool. So cool? Yes, thanks. hooray. little blue bar is going, going, going, hope that i get to write about something other than a bottle now. Wahoo. Tally ho.
When i think of a bottle floating in the ocean, my first image is to imagine a wild journey from some person wishing and wondering ages ago. What happened in that life for them to sent out a note to wish for something beyond.
The bottle shattered against the wall. Her eyes were so wide that he would have laughed under different circumstances. His anger had control. But why was he angry? He couldn’t remember. Why was he trying to hurt Amber? He couldn’t remember that either.
There was a small amount of fear that screamed at him as someone hefted– no, it was him picking up another bottle, taunting the girl and smiling.
A bottle of beer sat at the end of a diving board… It waiting patiently in the glorious sunlight until one young, studly man gazed upon it. He walked slowly… then faster as he noticed it was sweating for him… He drank it…with a boner.
Bottle. A Glass bottle, a symbol of the lost out at sea. There is a story in every bottle from the lost out at sea, but it may not necessarily have words in it, but is a picture of the human struggle with only a measure of hope.
He handed me the bottle of whiskey. I was already drunk; I could tell by my fuzzy vision, slow thoughts, and slouched posture against the wall. Taking a long sip of the dark liquid, I thought to myself, “No matter how much I drink, no matter how many supposedly fun nights I have, no matter how many times I won’t remember, I’ll still wake up every day with the same problem.” I finished the bottle, and neither of us said a word.
a bottle can make a beautiful piece of art. I prefer wine bottle. I don’t drink but fortunately my friends do. They gave me all their empty wine bottles which i then painted and sponged to use as a babies breath vase for the walk way at my wedding this past March. Plain. Simple. Beautiful.
The bottle was sitting next to me. I know what it was from, or do I? Is it filled with tears or wine, blood or vodka? Or is it empty, half full, half empty?
The bottle reached the shore, the paper inside only mildly damp, and the ink barely running. Melody found it early one morning, not even realizing what it was at first. When she did, though, she was amazed. A real life message in a bottle.
I think we all have a bottle. An inner bottle that we lock up deepest , secret feelings and emotions. Most people let those come to a head and the bottle explodes in different forms. I know I have one. I’m sure we all do. It’s not good to let that bottle get too full.
A bottle of nothing is still better than a bottle of poison. Isn’t it!? You easily can fill in It whatever you want to. Otherwise, it is much more difficult to get rid of poison once it’s there. And, it’s only of use to kill. But, when do you really want that?
Bottles are for babies. It keeps them quiet. When adults drink from bottles, they get louder. If I did not pay attenction to spelling abd punctuation, I could put more of my thoughts down here.
bottles are everywhere you look. store, gas stations in a hand of a running man. they are in your bedroom after you get done and under the bed where people have kicked them they are in the cars of family from after games.
bottle you can drink for a bottle of coke,pepsi,etc. or you can buy them at stores with ships & stuff in them pretty cool and neat work can be done with them.
The bottle was slim-necked, a sheer green that hardly disguised its nature. The glowing center was reflective, as if someone had placed a small mirror within it; the tatters of what was once a scroll were floating in what saltwater remained.
He drank gratefully from the bottle, banishing away the heat of the dessert. He handed it back to its owner– a tall, mysterious woman in dark, heavy looking clothes– with a glad smile and passed out.
When the bottle finally broke, the pieces scattered across the floor like they had waited forever for that moment of momentum and freedom. Having never talked to broken glass, she leaned in close to the floor to try to hear the chattering, laughing shards race along the cold tile.
A bottle can be a beautiful piece of art. A wine bottle makes a beautiful vase. I dont drink bu fortunately my friends do. They donated all their used wine bottles which i then painted and added babies breath in for my wedding. Plain. Simple. Beautiful.
Sixty bottles of water. 5 bottles of champagne. i don’t know. Thats’s what’s coming to my mind right now :P
Oh, there’s more time? Okay. Well, I want a bottle of milk :)
A vessel to hold but to also give. Send a note far into the ocean, and who receives it who will know. You could sustain a life or bottle it up. What is to give and what is to hold? That is up to you to decide.
You brought me back a Corona bottle. I was naive but in love with the person I thought you were. You brought it back from college spring break filled with Florida? Mexico? sand. I kept the bottle on my dresser. Every coarse, minuscule grain. I kept in there beside the dried roses until time allowed me to unlearn all I thought I knew.
She picked up the bottle and threw it as far as she could. She later went and picked up the bottle because she didn’t want to leave it laying there. She knew if she left it an animal could get hurt by it possibly and that’t the last thing she wanted to happen.
Knocked him over, then picked him up by the neck – SMASH – now his body lay broken on the ground, stepped on by unbalanced fighters and innocents running for cover.
bottle… so many different ways to think of this word as. you could think of the bottle that feeds a beautiful young baby or the bottle of whisky that makes a drunk who he is or just a nice bottle of whine for the fancy and romantic nights. there are a lot of different ways to look at “bottle”
tall glass floating on a vast smooth ocean
I’m really done. I finally did it! I never even thought I could do it. I walked into my favorite fast food chain. “I’ll take a soda, light ice!” I mumbled happily. I walked home and entered my newly painted room. I didn’t know the coke would cause more trouble than I thought.
When Dan was angry, she didn’t lash out like Luc or curse your descendants like Emrys. Instead, Dan went silent; eerily so. She kept her emotions carefully weighed down and bottled up inside her.
What a dangerous way to live, Olwen thought. Even the slightest carelessness could cause devastating ruin when the bottle finally broke.
a tall silver glass drink bottle floating in the ocean
It was azure blue, the color she’d imagined far away Italian seas looked like. It had a rough cloudy sheen on the outside, and looked like it contained shells. Shells from those far away seas, maybe? The ones she’d never seen?
She contemplated the bottle and promptly began to ignore her surroundings.
I have a lot I can say about this. I can tell you that the first thing I thought of when I saw this word was an old glass one, lying on a beach, the water rushing up to it and back away. The paper inside it, with a message from someone way back somewhere who had enough hope to send it. I can tell you that I thought of nights sitting in a rocking chair, holding the baby, tilting it a little more so she could get the last few drops; wondering why I’d stopped breast feeding, then reassuring myself that it wouldn’t change her personality for the worse forever. I could tell you that I thought about a big one, sitting on a desk, filled with coins, mostly quarters. The jar of all the money that would’ve been spent buying cigarettes, but that instead would pay for a reward that said, You did it. You quit. I can tell you that I thought about any of these first, but it would be such a lie. Because there is only one bottle I think of. The one filled with alcohol. The plague. The scourge. The end of normal, the beginning of pain, the reason things fell apart and never got put back together again. Here I stop. Because one is calling me right now.
The words were spoken but they just hung in the air. There were no willing ears to listen. Like a message in a bottle sent out to sea with no destination.
The bottle is so good to put everything inside, with it we can keep water and another liquids.
I prefer drinking in a bottle instead of drinking in a can, it’s more healthy.
On sunny day I was walking down the street near my house when I saw a bottle in the corner of my eye.I picked it up and inside was a map to treasure
One day i what to get a water but no water bottle I sad a bat a bottle
This is a bottle and I wrote about it yesterday. I would like a new word now please thank you that’d be cool. So cool? Yes, thanks. hooray. little blue bar is going, going, going, hope that i get to write about something other than a bottle now. Wahoo. Tally ho.
When i think of a bottle floating in the ocean, my first image is to imagine a wild journey from some person wishing and wondering ages ago. What happened in that life for them to sent out a note to wish for something beyond.
The bottle shattered against the wall. Her eyes were so wide that he would have laughed under different circumstances. His anger had control. But why was he angry? He couldn’t remember. Why was he trying to hurt Amber? He couldn’t remember that either.
There was a small amount of fear that screamed at him as someone hefted– no, it was him picking up another bottle, taunting the girl and smiling.
A bottle of beer sat at the end of a diving board… It waiting patiently in the glorious sunlight until one young, studly man gazed upon it. He walked slowly… then faster as he noticed it was sweating for him… He drank it…with a boner.
What is in every empty bottle that is found in the street. Nothing, it is devoid of all hope, laying around like so many broken dreams.
Bottle. A Glass bottle, a symbol of the lost out at sea. There is a story in every bottle from the lost out at sea, but it may not necessarily have words in it, but is a picture of the human struggle with only a measure of hope.
He handed me the bottle of whiskey. I was already drunk; I could tell by my fuzzy vision, slow thoughts, and slouched posture against the wall. Taking a long sip of the dark liquid, I thought to myself, “No matter how much I drink, no matter how many supposedly fun nights I have, no matter how many times I won’t remember, I’ll still wake up every day with the same problem.” I finished the bottle, and neither of us said a word.
a bottle can make a beautiful piece of art. I prefer wine bottle. I don’t drink but fortunately my friends do. They gave me all their empty wine bottles which i then painted and sponged to use as a babies breath vase for the walk way at my wedding this past March. Plain. Simple. Beautiful.
The bottle was sitting next to me. I know what it was from, or do I? Is it filled with tears or wine, blood or vodka? Or is it empty, half full, half empty?
The bottle reached the shore, the paper inside only mildly damp, and the ink barely running. Melody found it early one morning, not even realizing what it was at first. When she did, though, she was amazed. A real life message in a bottle.
OH MY LORD!
I think we all have a bottle. An inner bottle that we lock up deepest , secret feelings and emotions. Most people let those come to a head and the bottle explodes in different forms. I know I have one. I’m sure we all do. It’s not good to let that bottle get too full.
A bottle of nothing is still better than a bottle of poison. Isn’t it!? You easily can fill in It whatever you want to. Otherwise, it is much more difficult to get rid of poison once it’s there. And, it’s only of use to kill. But, when do you really want that?
I had a bottle of water. I was really cold. I brought it with me to P.E. and I drank it all
Bottles are for babies. It keeps them quiet. When adults drink from bottles, they get louder. If I did not pay attenction to spelling abd punctuation, I could put more of my thoughts down here.
bottles are everywhere you look. store, gas stations in a hand of a running man. they are in your bedroom after you get done and under the bed where people have kicked them they are in the cars of family from after games.
bottle you can drink for a bottle of coke,pepsi,etc. or you can buy them at stores with ships & stuff in them pretty cool and neat work can be done with them.
This is my bottle of water. It has a show cow on it. It is my favorite bottle.
The bottle was slim-necked, a sheer green that hardly disguised its nature. The glowing center was reflective, as if someone had placed a small mirror within it; the tatters of what was once a scroll were floating in what saltwater remained.
He drank gratefully from the bottle, banishing away the heat of the dessert. He handed it back to its owner– a tall, mysterious woman in dark, heavy looking clothes– with a glad smile and passed out.
When the bottle finally broke, the pieces scattered across the floor like they had waited forever for that moment of momentum and freedom. Having never talked to broken glass, she leaned in close to the floor to try to hear the chattering, laughing shards race along the cold tile.
A bottle can be a beautiful piece of art. A wine bottle makes a beautiful vase. I dont drink bu fortunately my friends do. They donated all their used wine bottles which i then painted and added babies breath in for my wedding. Plain. Simple. Beautiful.
Sixty bottles of water. 5 bottles of champagne. i don’t know. Thats’s what’s coming to my mind right now :P
Oh, there’s more time? Okay. Well, I want a bottle of milk :)
A vessel to hold but to also give. Send a note far into the ocean, and who receives it who will know. You could sustain a life or bottle it up. What is to give and what is to hold? That is up to you to decide.
You brought me back a Corona bottle. I was naive but in love with the person I thought you were. You brought it back from college spring break filled with Florida? Mexico? sand. I kept the bottle on my dresser. Every coarse, minuscule grain. I kept in there beside the dried roses until time allowed me to unlearn all I thought I knew.
She picked up the bottle and threw it as far as she could. She later went and picked up the bottle because she didn’t want to leave it laying there. She knew if she left it an animal could get hurt by it possibly and that’t the last thing she wanted to happen.
Knocked him over, then picked him up by the neck – SMASH – now his body lay broken on the ground, stepped on by unbalanced fighters and innocents running for cover.
bottle… so many different ways to think of this word as. you could think of the bottle that feeds a beautiful young baby or the bottle of whisky that makes a drunk who he is or just a nice bottle of whine for the fancy and romantic nights. there are a lot of different ways to look at “bottle”