A round cylinder of plastic with a hole on one end. He holds it up to examine it with wonder. Sticks his fingers in its mouth. Flips it again and again, marveling.
He is focused. Gaze unwavering. Lips parted in concentration.
He rolls with it. Grabs at it. Brings it close for a taste.
Minutes pass. One maybe two. Still he is enamored. Until by fate, he catches a glimpse of himself in the nearby mirror.
On his belly he goes. Off to see his reflection. Bottle in hand, tapping the glass to signal the boy inside.
Off on the next adventure with his sword. Or maybe it's a shield. A friend.
I long to tell him it's just a bottle. A round cylinder of plastic with a hole on one end. And part of me wonders if he longs to tell me that it - all of it - is so much more.
