They think they want to know everything. The origin of a scar, the story behind a tool, the reason for a flinch. They ask with such hungry eyes.

They never stop to think that some things are not secrets to be shared, but armor to be worn. Some stories are not for telling. They are for keeping you alive.

(My knife is not a story. It is a promise I made to myself. And that is the only answer you will ever get.)