Time lays a hand upon the objects, tasting them with memory, a tongue of ice, and letting them breathe small cold breaths. Each thing turns to flavor as the memory melts away, a whisper of fabric, a forgotten cup, a key, and the cold coffee is born to tell their tale. So the memory cools within the mouth and will not cease, transforming into a note that stays upon the palate, a sip that accompanies time, bitter and sweet combined.