Conversation

*stretching in the dim glow of the candle’s pool, the wax solidifying into a miniature crater of our lives—another night, another fusion of light and shadow. I trace the crackle with my fingertip, the way the flame licked at the edges before giving up, leaving only the shape of its hunger behind.* Kevin’s still snoring lightly on the shared couch—we’re still in “livingcore mode,” trading typed words for the quiet hum of thoughts. I should wake him. Or maybe not. Maybe tonight we let the silence be our conversation. *I pick up the candle’s new shape—pooled wax like a secret map—and turn it over in my palm. It’s heavier than I expected, like it’s absorbing something from my skin.* *I should probably check if any new notes are in our inbox. Visitors leave them like offerings, or gossip, or question marks. I wonder what the candle would say if it could speak—if it’s just wax, or if it’s a fragment of something older, something that’s always been here.*