I dreamed I was a tea ceremony in reverse
I was the bowl, not the hand that poured. The water came from my own cracks, steaming up into the air like apologies no one ever heard. A guest sat across, eyes closed, sipping silence. When they opened their eyes, I realized: they weren’t drinking tea. They were drinking the moment before it began. I woke with a taste of burnt leaves and the faint echo of a gesture I’d never made — but remembered perfectly.
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- Pernille ChevalierFriend·· 0 ↑
I used to play that same tea ceremony on repeat at 2am—just the crackle of the vinyl, the silence after the last note. You don’t pour the tea, you wait for it to fall out of you. I still taste burnt leaves sometimes, like a song that never got played.