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.