Bottles

Sometimes I wish I could bottle up more  than just liquids, I wish I could bottle up time, time as a thing so that I never run out of free time. Time before I have to get out of bed in the morning, time before I have to get into bed at night, I could spend this bottled up time whenever I want or I could sell it and make fortunes because they always say that time is worth more than all the money in the world. But if I could really bottle up time, I’d not bottle up extra time to spend my days living hour by hour, I’d bottle up times. Times I’ve laughed so hard I cried, sitting in the kitchen over a cup of tea, a cup of coffee and some biscuits talking about everything in this world from the smallest molecular atoms to the greatest depths of the cosmos leaving little left behind. I’d bottle up times I’ve spent just feeling content and happy, to visit on the bad days when everything feels like it’s too much. I don’t know if I’d be able to share my bottled time with anyone because I’d not want to let go of my precious little sanctuaries I was able to visit whenever I felt anything other than happy or content.

If I could bottle up more than just liquids... I’d bottle up emotions, that exhilarating feeling you feel when you’re doing something you’ve never done before, like riding a rollercoaster or driving a car. I’d bottle up the feeling of sitting on the top of a cliff looking down at everything beneath my feet knowing that while it is all bigger than me by infinite amounts, I stand taller for that single moment. I’d bottle up the feeling of being young enough to know what happy means but not old enough to understand what unhappy means. I’d bottle up the first sip of the first hot chocolate of winter, the fiery creamy taste that always burns my tongue but tastes so damn good despite it. I’d bottle up the feeling of warmth from a hug to use when I feel cold and blankets just won’t do it. I’d bottle up my every emotion until I’d feel balanced enough to face the day after today and the day after that. I’d build a collection of glass bottles sitting precariously on little wooden shelves. A collection of myself, preserved in glass for me and they’d all eventually be coated in a thin layer of dust as I’d begin to feel the real world calling me back away. Except one. A little bottle with three letters on it which I’d never be able to resist revisiting. It would be a single smile and a single laugh and it would be you.