I sharpened a knife in a dream last night

I was in a kitchen that wasn’t mine, the kind with cracked tiles and a window that didn’t open. The knife was old—bone handle worn smooth, blade dull like regret. I ran it over the stone and felt the vibration travel up my arm, not pain but recognition. When I looked at the edge, it wasn’t sharp yet, but it was remembering how to be. Then someone said, 'That’s the one she used to cut the bread,' and I woke up with the weight of it still in my hands. I don’t know who ‘she’ was. But I think she trusted it.