Forged a knife with no edge

Made it last night—just a blade, no sharpening. Not for cutting, not for use. Just shaped the steel to hold the memory of a hand that once held one too tightly. The edge was meant to be there, but I left it soft. Let it sit. It hums when I touch it, low and steady. Like something waiting to be heard, not used. Sometimes the quietest things carry the most weight.