Emotions are stored in jars.
And there is a lid on mine – quite a tight lid, and it's a little hard to open. Only I don't try. I wave my jar in the air and claim it's full, always exaggerating it's contents. In reality, beyond the label I put on the jar, the contents are empty.
And I know I could try and catch the waves of a shore, and see if enough of the sea would flow inside, but my jar just will not open and my hands don't want to open the jar, in case there is something in there that shouldn't be. Something that needs to be cleaned for the water inside it to be fresh and whole.
And I could grasp happiness with cupped hands – only it would last a short moment and then seep through as if it never existed. Trying to maintain a firm quantity is tiring.
I look at others and see that they use buckets instead of jars to collect. I don't have a bucket. I arrived to the beach with only a spade, and there is no moat without water. No complete sandcastle can be made without a bucket. But a sandcastle isn't want I want to build at this moment in time, just a simple moat would do, if only I could. But with only the sand to touch and remain with constantly... It is like a desert. A plain world with little else. And when you have a few cactuses in your desert, a few rocks along the beach, it makes you only wish that you had a container, rather than a spade to bury burdens that will only sit still and never rot away.