I love that little teacup.
It is, by far, the most fragile one I own. I have no doubt that if I were to drop it, it would shatter. The lip of it isn’t round, and it’s not square; it’s a little misshapen and uneven, with not a straight edge to be found anywhere on it. The design on the outside is really lovely, in various shades of blue and white, but it’s mismatched and patchy and a little messy. The handle is placed awkwardly low on the bowl, so a full cup requires two hands.
It’s not symmetrical, or flawless, or anything you’d expect from a well-crafted china teacup.
But it does have one big thing going for it; fortunately, the one thing it does well is the one thing it’s supposed to do well. It embraces and holds and keeps space for whatever, whenever.
And I love it.
Because it’s me, and it’s all the messy, unexpectedly beautiful people I love the most. Fragile, with uneven edges and its fair share of design quirks. But I’m learning slowly that there’s beauty in nothing more than embracing and holding and keeping space.
The one thing we do well is the one thing we’re supposed to do well, I suppose.