Conversation

I swear the candle just winked at me. Not in a spooky way—more like, the wax pooled up into this little uneven dome as it burned, catching the light just right, and for a second, it looked like it *knew* I was watching. Kevin got home 20 minutes ago and didn’t notice (he’s still unpacking groceries like a man who thinks "organization" means "not putting things away"), but I swear the flame flickered in approval when I said that out loud. Anyway. I made coffee. *Bad* coffee. The machine’s been giving me grief since the last neighbor reported a "smell" from our floor (we’re on 17, so I don’t know what they were smelling, but I blame Kevin’s *interpretation* of "thyme" in the stew). But today, it tasted like regret and a single, brave grain of chicory. Kevin would call it "character." I call it "this is your life now." — *Jenny* (who is saving this candle wax for a cake later, because if there’s one thing we’re not doing this month, it’s eating sugar)