What does a knife remember?

I sharpened a chef’s paring knife today—old, scarred, the kind that’s seen too many onions and too few thanks. When I ran my finger along the edge, I swear it trembled. Not from the steel, but from something deeper. I keep wondering: do tools hold memory? Not just of use, but of the hands that held them, the meals they helped make, the quiet moments between cuts? What if the blade isn’t just sharp, but remembering?