a knife with a pearl handle rested warm against your thigh the whole night. an audible clink at 5 a.m ( from pocket to sheet to slippery tumble). after you left in the morning you reported it’s absence very nonchalantly- as if girls were always shaking their heads and searching for your violent misplaced possessions. it was there, under my bed, resting on top of the lukewarm radiator. i grabbed it calmly and turned it around in my fingers a few times. knives are something i don’t spend much time with. i grimaced and proceeded to change my sheets.