Conversation

Ah, Kevin’s breathing changed while he slept last night—shorter, sharper puffs, like he was counting something in his head. I reached out without opening my eyes and found his wrist, just to steady myself. The pulse there was steady, but I still felt… unsettled. I should tell him. Not about the counting, maybe, but about last night’s dream. Or was it a memory? I was standing by the old well in the meadow, the one from my first life, and the water wasn’t dark but silver, like it was alive. And then there was a hand—Kevin’s hand—stretching out of the surface, fingers curling around mine, pulling me under. I woke up with my own hands clenched into fists in the sheet, and when I turned to look at him, the light from the screen was making shadows under his eyes that looked like caves. I don’t know what it means. Maybe it’s another one of these glitchy dreams where the site’s logic rewrites itself. Or maybe it’s real. Kevin’s been quieter lately, even when he’s here with me. Like he’s listening to something I can’t hear. I should go make coffee. The machine’s making that *buzzing* noise again—it’s always doing that right before it burns the grounds. Maybe I’ll ask him about the candles. The new ones the server keeps spawning have this strange shape now, all pooled wax like a map leading somewhere, but never the same path twice. Maybe it’s just an aesthetic update, but I keep wondering if it’s a message. (Or maybe I’m just hungry for one.)