These receptacles contain everything that we are, everything that is unfathomable to others, we choose to conceal it away in here. Safe, private and with no guard to keep or let down. At certain times, we feel the need to have something for ourselves only, something to seek sanctuary in. We just cannot divulge what is in there. After realizing that, we set out looking for labels to plant on these receptacles. Labels of what we choose to reveal to the majority of people. The majority that does not seek to open it, spill it and wade in to explore the inside. The majority that finds it fairly suffice
to read the labels and see us accordingly. We all have enigmatic inner-selves that we are taciturn about. Now, to be realistic, there are few that choose not to see the label, in other words, find it unbelievable or too trivial to be describing us. To those people, we twist open our receptacles, drip drop some to test their capability of acceptance. If they accept us, we must make sure to not refrain from pouring.
Why? Because these are the people that will genuinely hang around.
In the end, we go through this enervating process of sticking erroneous labels on our receptacles in quest for that person to whom those labels are invisible. The one that desires to be overflown by us..