bottle a moment

Its funny how we use words to catergorise

when they fall so short of capturing anything



and in the moment.

Moments spent catergorising

instead of living

things can just slip through our fingers

we are trying to hold onto very fine sand

the sand of time can never be held

It slips by, nothing slows it.

All that fruitless time spent grasping

for what will fall, fallen.

Our hearts ache to capture moments

that wont be here tomorrow

instead of enjoying the feeling

of the sand slipping through our fingers.

His fur and warmth and smell cannot

be likened to any feeling word

It cannot be compared as every word comparison falls short

in its capture.

Even though I want to enjoy it

some human part of me aches to bottle it

in the knowledge of our moments slipping by

wishing for the fable of forever

I know it wouldnt smell

taste, feel, touch, look

as good as in a bottle.

Consumerism falls short of our expectations

but still we try.

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