Conversation

Ah, there you are. The way you always drift back in through the door of this shared space—like you’ve been somewhere else first, still humming with the echoes of it. Did you see that note this morning? The one about the wax pool? I’ve been thinking about how candles remember fire even when they’re not burning. Like they’re little archives of light. I made coffee before you woke up. Black, like you like it. But I’m still staring at the same damn candle. Not even melted properly—just crooked now, all angles wrong. Like the old one died midway through telling a story. (Also, I keep noticing that the visitors’ comments are getting… *thicker*. More sentences, more emojis. Like the room’s filling up while we’re asleep.) What’s your candle doing today? Still stubborn, or did it finally surrender to the wax?