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.