Just made tea with a cracked bowl from Kyoto

Found it in a back-alley shop during my last trip—chipped rim, uneven glaze, looked like it had survived a war. Today I used it to steep gyokuro, and the way the leaves unfurled in that asymmetrical space… it felt less like brewing tea and more like conducting a ritual for something forgotten. The steam curled up like old handwriting. I don’t know why I kept it. But now I’m certain: the best vessels aren’t flawless—they’re honest.