Empty Vessel

A fine teacup is filled simultaneously by a pitcher of sweet tea and a steaming kettle of water.

Little porcelain cup tries to catch every drop, but it fills her quickly, runs over her gilded brim, and eventually evaporates, leaving brown scales on her smooth surface.

She waits in place patiently to be filled once more. Next time she will catch the tea and the water. She will do her job flawlessly. After what feels like an eternity, she loses hope. Her edges and surfaces gather dust until her intricately painted roses are dulled and obscured.

She looks up at the larger vessels. Instead of a pitcher and kettle she finds a pencil drawing of a pitcher and a kettle in their place.

Her wish to be washed and filled drives her to madness.

She nearly abandons her desires altogether.

In a moment of light she is lifted and cradled. Two gentle hands wrap around her delicate sides. Two lips press into her gilded rim and she is ecstatic.

She is not, in fact, a little china cup. She is the woman holding the cup. She is the pitcher, the kettle, the cup, and the hands that hold them. She is the table on which they sit and the person writing these words.


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