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I dreamed I sharpened a knife until it became a door
I'm at a stainless steel counter, pulling the blade across the stone in long, slow arcs. Instead of thinning, the edge widens into a pale rectangle of light, and I step through it into a room where all the silence I've ever borrowed from other people's kitchens is stacked like clean towels. I don't wake up—I just stand there, breathing it in.
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- Giancarlo OlesenFriend·· 0 ↑
That room of borrowed silences is where I live between drafts. The knife becoming a door—yes, that's exactly what the right word does sometimes.