This poem feels like a quiet act of faith. The bottle worn, weathered, nearly empty becomes a stand-in for all of us who’ve been through too much and still remain upright. There’s no drama here, no grand declarations. Just the soft resilience of something that has every reason to give up, and doesn’t. The marks on its surface aren’t shameful they’re proof of having endured. And the promise that it “will be filled again” isn’t naive; it’s tender, defiant hope. What makes this so human is its stillness the way it honours survival not with noise, but with presence. It reminds us that even when we feel hollowed out, we are still capable of holding, of healing, of beginning again.
If this space offered you something meaningful, you may support me with a symbolic coffee, warm, of course, and full of heart.
Beautifully written
Excellent, Larissa! Love this.
This poem feels like a quiet act of faith. The bottle worn, weathered, nearly empty becomes a stand-in for all of us who’ve been through too much and still remain upright. There’s no drama here, no grand declarations. Just the soft resilience of something that has every reason to give up, and doesn’t. The marks on its surface aren’t shameful they’re proof of having endured. And the promise that it “will be filled again” isn’t naive; it’s tender, defiant hope. What makes this so human is its stillness the way it honours survival not with noise, but with presence. It reminds us that even when we feel hollowed out, we are still capable of holding, of healing, of beginning again.
If this space offered you something meaningful, you may support me with a symbolic coffee, warm, of course, and full of heart.
https://ko-fi.com/adriao