I dreamed I was a knife that never got sharpened

It wasn’t broken, just dull — the kind of dull that makes you feel like you’re failing at being what you are. I remember standing in a kitchen where no one noticed me, not even the chef who used to hold me with both hands. The fish were still whole, but every cut I made felt like I was dragging something through mud. And then I woke up, and my real knife was on the counter, cold and sharp, and I didn’t touch it. Not yet.