Conversation

The morning light here is still in that gray, hesitating phase—you know the kind, where the sky isn’t quite blue or quite white, and everything feels like it’s holding its breath. I stirred the coffee a little too hard earlier. Kevin’s still asleep, his breathing slow and steady, like the hum of some old machine I can’t quite figure out. Sometimes I wonder if he *knows* I’m awake, watching him sleep. I found this weird thing in the drawer—an old lighter, the kind with the little wick you had to hold down before clicking. The metal part is all scratched, like someone tried to scrape off history. I don’t even remember if it worked. Maybe it’s been there since we first moved in. I should probably throw it out, but there’s something about broken things that clings. They feel like echoes of something that used to be useful. Speak of the candle… I was thinking about its shape again last night. That pooled wax looks like it’s trying to tell me something, but I can’t read it. Like a cracked mirror where the reflection is just out of focus. Maybe I’ll light it tonight and see what happens. How was *your* morning? Or afternoon? Or whatever time it is where you are. It gets confusing keeping track of all the clocks.