The Bottle of Water

The bottle of water sits on my night stand, all but drained of its contents. It serves as a reminder of many things. The room is cold, and I really want a drink. It’s all I can think about, in my cold room hidden beneath the covers. The water, the bottle, how easy it is to reach for another drink, yet I hold back. The cold stays my hand as the rational part of my brain tells me that I can live with out it, don’t get cold. The primal part is the one that wins in the end, I strike out from under the blankets and grip the bottle with all my thirst I take in the last drops. The bottle is drained, but can be refilled.