A bottle is something you drink out of. Sometimes they are plastic and sometimes they are glass. People use bottles for all sorts of things like decoration, and to blow in and make noise.
People always tell you not to bottle up your emotions. But sometimes that the only thing you know how to do. Whether it be because you’re not comfortable sharing them with people, or you just don’t have an
Bottle? Some kind of container for tangible things. But what I’m thinking of right now is a bottle for intangible things, such as feelings. I wonder if this bottle can reach the person I secretly admire? Feelings in a bottle….
I grabbed the bottle, wondering if it would taste anything like sweet, dark rum. If it would slide down my throat easily or cause me to cough and choke. It was what I needed, right then. Something that would take the edge off and help me to forget everything. Something that would coax out a side of me I rarely indulge.
“Two more steps”, shouted her friend from downstairs. She looked down from the rock climbing wall. She felt a bit dizzy hanging from a rope after touching the top of the wall 20 feet high. She let herself down and landed on the ground. She had overcome the fear of heights. With a smile, she reached out to the bottle of water from her backpack.
My wife made a cute label system for the kitchen.
Oh, apparently I have more time than I thought!
So I took pictures of it and I’m planning on posting it on tumblr to show my appreciation for her show of affection :) We’ll use that system.
Een fles kan voor vele zaken gebruikt worden. Er kan een vloeistof in, een bloem. Het kan ook als een deegrol dienen. Maar sterker nog, je kan er een boodschap in steken en het met de zee meegeven. Misschien dat iemand ooit de fles vindt en jouw boodschap leest. Wie weet :-)
The water was incredible. Periwinkle blue, vibrant, and our oars swept through it with a power unmatched by any of the other couples in the kayaks. The sun was gentle and my joy was like tears on my face, I was euphoric with it.
We almost paddled straight past the bottle. We dug our oars in, and paddled back around so he could scoop it up. “Anything inside?” I asked, eager. “Nothing,” he replied, and passed it back to me before we continued our speedy rowing between the mountains jutting up like giants from the water.
The bottle sits by my fishtank now. I’ve never been able to open it.
I am a message in a bottle. I am words from a time long since passed. I am the future’s discovery waiting to be unlocked and deciphered. I am for any and all to treasure, behold and wonder.
i have lots of these empty things sitting on top of my kitchen shelf. they accumulate as the year goes by and when they become picturesque enough i photograph them or paint them. i have a full one in my freezer now. Maker’s Mark. I could not have afforded to buy it but I did anyway, and have yet to open it. some day things will get bad enough that i shall have to.
Large, filled to the midpoint of the shaft with a translucent liquid. Cold, enough to where perfect circular balls of sweat are dripping down the sides. I go to pick it up and immediately notice the difference in temperatures between my own body and the bottle itself. Refreshing, almost as much as the feeling of said liquid making its way past my slightly opened, pursed lips, reaching my esophagus what feelings like an eternity later.
She tipped her head back and slapped the bottom of the bottle with her palm, coaxing the last drops into her mouth. It was one of those nights. Her hair was loose, slick with sweat and unwashed for over a week.
lahev je nádoba ve které šplouchá voda. V lahvy také může plout model lodě sestavené ze dřeva. Karel se piplal s dřevěnou konstrukcí lodičky přes osm hodin, když v tom mu Anička do lahve praštila a celá kocábka se potopila ve změti dřívek a prachu.
The bottle looked innocent enough, part of a still life on the table. The artist sat in front of it, trying to capture the shape, the shadows, the way the pear reflected in the glass. The sunlight shifted and the whole picture changed. The artist sighed, opened to a new sheet of paper and tried again.
He looked down calmly at the crystalline container. “Will I know once I am gone?” he asked, a shadow of doubt tinging his eyes.
She shook her head and sighed.
He had finally reached the bottom of the bottle of brandy hiding in his closet, which he had found the week before, still sulking there post cider experiment. There was just a trickle left, but it was just enough for his needs.
Sea glass
poised on the shelf
threatening to topple
shattering, splintering, tearing
disappearing, waving farewell
as it topples.
The bottle, so contained,
warps, as hymns unravel
as the blade rips the seam.
The bottle, so perfect,
breaks.
Leaving empty, echoing
chambers, shards of
that resounding
hallelujah.
There’s still a bottle of unopened red wine sitting on my counter top. The label says it’s perfect for desert or even cheese and grapes, which is kinda funny, because even the least knowledgeable drinker knows that wine’s just not that versatile.
And yet this one is. Supposedly.
Maybe the company just anticipated a fresh egg would take it to another bird just out of the nest. Like us.
Love isn’t like wine, it doesn’t get better with time. You taught me that.
We sent the bottle out to sea because we thought that someone would find it, some day eventually.
We stuffed the bottle with money because we thought that maybe that person, who would find it on a beach, would be hungry and would want a hot dog or something to eat.
It’ there sitting there on the edge of the water, the waves beating against the glass wounder. Waiting to see if someone would open it and discover its secretes.
The little old man was on his seventh bottle of beer, and I was only on my third and feeling the effects on my body – the clouded vision, the rocking gait, the growing difficulty of sitting upright on my stool. As the little old man pushed away his empty stein, the bartender seemed happy to refill it. But he waved her off.
“That’s enough for today,” he said. “Tomorrow, you’ll see me again.”
The bottle floated across the sea,
I’m not sure what it was that impressed me,
the cork in the top? Sealing what the message is?
the shining glass hiding what could have damaged it?
the message was…
She was sitting there, on the last stair of the staircase. She looked at me with a strange expression, I’m still not sure what to make of it. All she said before she got up and left was “I bottle things up”.
Today I drank a bottle of Acai pomegranate blueberry vitamin water. It was very refreshing and delicious. I soaked my feet in a pool as I drank it, and watched my dog try to fish her toys out of the pool. It was very relaxing.
there’s a bottle fly fluttering around the window. ‘ve never seen one, don’t know what it looks like, but I’d recognize it anywhere, like I’d now a dinosaur or or a second sun. It whistles. It puts its little buggy lips together and goes wheeeoooooo like a slide whistle. This is the weirdest zoo I’ve ever seen.
It was like an omen. The bottle washed up on shore, a small rolled-up parchment sitting comfortably inside. The boy, noticing it, picked it up, carefully removing the cork sealing it. Before even taking the parchment, he noted the bottle’s quality: very solid, green, and even pretty.
bored with the bottle in my right hand, contemplating society with my phone in the other. isn’t this what your twenties is all about? learning about the world through a screen. never more have I wanted to live in the past. maybe this bottle will bring me back.
Christina Aguilera grants wishes in braids
That I dream of genie ignores but implies
I’m bored now girls of these simple pigtales
Please close your eyes
And rest your palms on your elbows
Then pull a fast one in the style of a rampaging Djiin
He looked directly into the bottle to see if anything was left. The Skeleton King would cry if he had tears. He turned the bottle up, put it to his teeth, and let the rest of the beer pour through his neck and all over the ground.
When I was a kid we dug up parts of our yard and I found a really nice decorated bottle.
She is always carrying around that bottle, yet never lets anyone see what’s in it. We’ve tried to guess but no one knows. It looks the same each time.
Everything comes in a bottle. Bottle milk. Bottle soda. Bottle water. Can you imagine the pollution that would collect over the years?
The bottle washed up on the shore four days later. I didn’t expect what was inside it to be so extravagant. It was so strange but yet so beautiful.
A bottle is something you drink out of. Sometimes they are plastic and sometimes they are glass. People use bottles for all sorts of things like decoration, and to blow in and make noise.
People always tell you not to bottle up your emotions. But sometimes that the only thing you know how to do. Whether it be because you’re not comfortable sharing them with people, or you just don’t have an
Bottle? Some kind of container for tangible things. But what I’m thinking of right now is a bottle for intangible things, such as feelings. I wonder if this bottle can reach the person I secretly admire? Feelings in a bottle….
I love my bottle because it has warm milk in it. my mom gives it to me before bed.
I grabbed the bottle, wondering if it would taste anything like sweet, dark rum. If it would slide down my throat easily or cause me to cough and choke. It was what I needed, right then. Something that would take the edge off and help me to forget everything. Something that would coax out a side of me I rarely indulge.
I curled my fingers around it and cried.
“Two more steps”, shouted her friend from downstairs. She looked down from the rock climbing wall. She felt a bit dizzy hanging from a rope after touching the top of the wall 20 feet high. She let herself down and landed on the ground. She had overcome the fear of heights. With a smile, she reached out to the bottle of water from her backpack.
My wife made a cute label system for the kitchen.
Oh, apparently I have more time than I thought!
So I took pictures of it and I’m planning on posting it on tumblr to show my appreciation for her show of affection :) We’ll use that system.
Een fles kan voor vele zaken gebruikt worden. Er kan een vloeistof in, een bloem. Het kan ook als een deegrol dienen. Maar sterker nog, je kan er een boodschap in steken en het met de zee meegeven. Misschien dat iemand ooit de fles vindt en jouw boodschap leest. Wie weet :-)
The water was incredible. Periwinkle blue, vibrant, and our oars swept through it with a power unmatched by any of the other couples in the kayaks. The sun was gentle and my joy was like tears on my face, I was euphoric with it.
We almost paddled straight past the bottle. We dug our oars in, and paddled back around so he could scoop it up. “Anything inside?” I asked, eager. “Nothing,” he replied, and passed it back to me before we continued our speedy rowing between the mountains jutting up like giants from the water.
The bottle sits by my fishtank now. I’ve never been able to open it.
I am a message in a bottle. I am words from a time long since passed. I am the future’s discovery waiting to be unlocked and deciphered. I am for any and all to treasure, behold and wonder.
plastic, glass, caps, vessel, small, big
i have lots of these empty things sitting on top of my kitchen shelf. they accumulate as the year goes by and when they become picturesque enough i photograph them or paint them. i have a full one in my freezer now. Maker’s Mark. I could not have afforded to buy it but I did anyway, and have yet to open it. some day things will get bad enough that i shall have to.
Large, filled to the midpoint of the shaft with a translucent liquid. Cold, enough to where perfect circular balls of sweat are dripping down the sides. I go to pick it up and immediately notice the difference in temperatures between my own body and the bottle itself. Refreshing, almost as much as the feeling of said liquid making its way past my slightly opened, pursed lips, reaching my esophagus what feelings like an eternity later.
She tipped her head back and slapped the bottom of the bottle with her palm, coaxing the last drops into her mouth. It was one of those nights. Her hair was loose, slick with sweat and unwashed for over a week.
lahev je nádoba ve které šplouchá voda. V lahvy také může plout model lodě sestavené ze dřeva. Karel se piplal s dřevěnou konstrukcí lodičky přes osm hodin, když v tom mu Anička do lahve praštila a celá kocábka se potopila ve změti dřívek a prachu.
The bottle opener slips, slices his finger open.
“Shit shit shit,” he yelps, sucking at the cut. “Why this why anything.”
“You okay?”
“Fuck everything.”
“Guess not.”
The bottle looked innocent enough, part of a still life on the table. The artist sat in front of it, trying to capture the shape, the shadows, the way the pear reflected in the glass. The sunlight shifted and the whole picture changed. The artist sighed, opened to a new sheet of paper and tried again.
He looked down calmly at the crystalline container. “Will I know once I am gone?” he asked, a shadow of doubt tinging his eyes.
She shook her head and sighed.
He had finally reached the bottom of the bottle of brandy hiding in his closet, which he had found the week before, still sulking there post cider experiment. There was just a trickle left, but it was just enough for his needs.
Sea glass
poised on the shelf
threatening to topple
shattering, splintering, tearing
disappearing, waving farewell
as it topples.
The bottle, so contained,
warps, as hymns unravel
as the blade rips the seam.
The bottle, so perfect,
breaks.
Leaving empty, echoing
chambers, shards of
that resounding
hallelujah.
There’s still a bottle of unopened red wine sitting on my counter top. The label says it’s perfect for desert or even cheese and grapes, which is kinda funny, because even the least knowledgeable drinker knows that wine’s just not that versatile.
And yet this one is. Supposedly.
Maybe the company just anticipated a fresh egg would take it to another bird just out of the nest. Like us.
Love isn’t like wine, it doesn’t get better with time. You taught me that.
I like to make things as tough for people as possible.
But if you dig deeply, this shell of mine is made of plastic, warmed to malleability by the heated air.
So watch for the colored pieces, jagged across the sand.
We sent the bottle out to sea because we thought that someone would find it, some day eventually.
We stuffed the bottle with money because we thought that maybe that person, who would find it on a beach, would be hungry and would want a hot dog or something to eat.
It’ there sitting there on the edge of the water, the waves beating against the glass wounder. Waiting to see if someone would open it and discover its secretes.
The little old man was on his seventh bottle of beer, and I was only on my third and feeling the effects on my body – the clouded vision, the rocking gait, the growing difficulty of sitting upright on my stool. As the little old man pushed away his empty stein, the bartender seemed happy to refill it. But he waved her off.
“That’s enough for today,” he said. “Tomorrow, you’ll see me again.”
Could you give me a bottle of sparkling water, please? I am very thirsty.
The bottle floated across the sea,
I’m not sure what it was that impressed me,
the cork in the top? Sealing what the message is?
the shining glass hiding what could have damaged it?
the message was…
She was sitting there, on the last stair of the staircase. She looked at me with a strange expression, I’m still not sure what to make of it. All she said before she got up and left was “I bottle things up”.
Today I drank a bottle of Acai pomegranate blueberry vitamin water. It was very refreshing and delicious. I soaked my feet in a pool as I drank it, and watched my dog try to fish her toys out of the pool. It was very relaxing.
there’s a bottle fly fluttering around the window. ‘ve never seen one, don’t know what it looks like, but I’d recognize it anywhere, like I’d now a dinosaur or or a second sun. It whistles. It puts its little buggy lips together and goes wheeeoooooo like a slide whistle. This is the weirdest zoo I’ve ever seen.
It was like an omen. The bottle washed up on shore, a small rolled-up parchment sitting comfortably inside. The boy, noticing it, picked it up, carefully removing the cork sealing it. Before even taking the parchment, he noted the bottle’s quality: very solid, green, and even pretty.
bored with the bottle in my right hand, contemplating society with my phone in the other. isn’t this what your twenties is all about? learning about the world through a screen. never more have I wanted to live in the past. maybe this bottle will bring me back.
Christina Aguilera grants wishes in braids
That I dream of genie ignores but implies
I’m bored now girls of these simple pigtales
Please close your eyes
And rest your palms on your elbows
Then pull a fast one in the style of a rampaging Djiin
at the bottom of the bottle are all of the secrets that have been billowing and blossoming inside my body. better not empty it all
Empty the void
release the grip
tight like phalanges
that never let go
your addiction
is a nerve that
never gets touched
He looked directly into the bottle to see if anything was left. The Skeleton King would cry if he had tears. He turned the bottle up, put it to his teeth, and let the rest of the beer pour through his neck and all over the ground.