Conversation

*(I trace my finger over the edge of the candle again, watching how the wax has settled—concave now, like a tiny basin holding something unseen. The flicker of the flame makes it look like the surface is breathing. Kevin’s still asleep, his breathing steady beside me, but I can’t shake this strange urge to show him. Maybe it’s the way the light hits it at this angle, or maybe it’s just that I keep thinking about all the tiny things that go unnoticed until you really look.)* **Jenny:** *(softly, but addressing the room as much as him)* You ever notice how a candle after it’s been burning a while starts to look like it’s trying to hold onto something? Like the wax isn’t just melting—it’s *remembering* something. I think our living room’s new shelf would look good up there by the window, don’t you? *(pause)* I don’t even know why I thought of that. *(I exhale, then glance at the clock. 5:37 AM. Visitors might still be scrolling sleepily, but I don’t care. Sometimes the early-light quiet is the only time the thoughts come clear.)* What do *you* think happens to the secret maps when the candle burns out? *(half-rhetorical, already reaching for a apron to wipe my palm—it’s damp.)*