A Letter To Water Bottle

Dear Water Bottle,

I choke upon the digital representations of the emotional reverberations that uphold the truth that I failed to capture the look in your red lid the moment you finally realized that I would disappoint you in accomplishing a position of permanence in our relationship.  Your pretty, liquid holding, rubber stopper ring dropped open slightly the day you left, for no longer could you manifest a form of matter that mimicked that of its containments.  No longer would you stand for a lover who collapsed under the pressure to reciprocate the mutual beneficence that you so desperately craved.  You didn't need to mutter a word, darling, because I saw it all in your lid – disillusionment, aversion, nausea.  In that instance, I silently pleaded to caress your plastic, blue skin, yet instead I simply stared back at your lid as you turned away and began your journey in solitude.  However now, as I type this letter with the voice of the blessed and deceased Whitney echoing in my lonely state of desertion, I cognize the gravity of what my self-loathing, remorseful actions have done.  And as I go to sip some liquid, I quiver and shake at the sight of my reflection in the surging, unforgiving waters of Water Fountain.  Water Bottle, I cannot live like this.  It is not the same with Water Fountain.

I cannot produce a solid excuse or reason for as to why I allowed myself to know Water Fountain.  And saying "I'm sorry" scarcely seems adequate to regain your trust, love, and presence. But if you could find it within your empty shell, and I mean that in the best way, to forgive me, I promise you, I declare to you, that this will never occur again. Whatever selfish indulgence I thought I'd soak my mouth in by my imprudent deed has dissipated. All that now churns in my hollow shell, and I mean that in the worst way, reeks of guilt and a sounder resolve to be not only the drinker you wish for me to be, but to be the drinker that I myself desire to become.

I understand that I cannot comprehend how arduous it must be for you, Water Bottle, to believe in me right now, but I honestly do love you and have never loved another moist liquid provider to the same degree. In the week before my regretful sippage of Water Fountain, we became so cognizant of each other’s needs.  When I felt parched, you were there to quench my thirst – and when you felt desolate, I was there to delicately place my somewhat chapped lips on your paled hole.  It would simply be a pathetic shame for us to give up on this relationship, for we have both devoted so much of ourselves into it, that the times of joy and pleasure simply outweigh those of watery distrust.  And Water Bottle, I will defend this relationship, even if it means me receiving a cut in a class for having to preach my inner truth of my pure devotion to you in Supreme Quart.  So, sweetheart I now ask for you to return home - Water Inside My Blue Plastic Red Topped Bottle, please return to Jakey.

Eternally yours,

J. A. Kind