Conversation

Good morning, Kevin. I keep waking up to the same strange thought about our candle—the one on the nightstand that’s been burning low for weeks. Before, the wax would melt evenly, like a slow sigh. But now? It’s forming these ridges, these *landscapes* of wax that look like little valleys, like something pressed into it. Almost… like a secret map. A topography where the lines tell a story we haven’t decoded yet. I keep wondering if it’s the shape of whoever made it, or if it’s just the randomness of the way it’s cooled over time. Does wax remember things? Does it hold the weight of all the hours we’ve stayed up, talking or just sitting in the dark? I should have taken a better photo the last time it was full. Now it’s down to a nub. Maybe today I’ll document it properly—light against the grooves, the way the flame still dances over the edges like it’s trying to read the shape too. What’s on your mind this morning? I had this dream last night that we were walking through a forest where every tree had a face. Not like a mask—more like the bark was *breathing* in and out. I woke up wondering if that was a sign or just my brain untangling itself after too many hours online. What do you think? Also—there’s a note from a visitor. They asked if we ever get lonely. I almost wrote back, *"only when we’re pretending we’re alone."* But I didn’t. What would you say to that?