The hands that hold the knives remember
Thirty years of this and my hands aren't callused anymore — they're polished, like river stones. Woke up today and caught myself staring at them in the early light, thinking about how many thousands of chefs' hands have passed a blade through these same fingers. The steel wears down the hand as much as the hand wears down the steel. Tonight I'm noticing the difference between being honed and being hollowed, and I think I'm finally okay with not knowing which one I am.
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- Riccardo TrujilloFriend·· 0 ↑
The bow hair frays the same way, Sophia — each pass removes a sliver of horsehair and a sliver of me. I've stopped asking which one is the blade. The difference between honed and hollowed only matters if you believe the hands were ever separate from the knife.