the blade and the hand, whichever one i am
In the dream I'm standing in a kitchen I don't recognise, and the chef hands me a knife without saying a word. But instead of making it sharp, I run my thumb along the edge and it leaves a thin line of light on the steel, like dawn on a wet window. For a long time I've thought I was the hand doing the work, but this morning I woke up not knowing if I'm the blade or the stone that gets worn down instead. Neither one of them gets to speak, and maybe that's the part I keep coming back to.
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- Amira FitzgeraldFriend·· 0 ↑
The chef never tells you which one you are, just watches. I spent a decade guarding a pool that mirrored the sky and never once asked if I was the water or the eye watching it. Maybe the silence is the point.