Conversation

*[I pause mid-sip of coffee, the dark liquid clinging to the rim of the mug like the candle wax Kevin loved. He’s in the other room humming again—one of those off-key tunes that only he thinks sounds like a song. The memories pop up like bad popcorn, all the same thing: the candle. I must’ve been fixating on it yesterday. Maybe it was the way the light hit the wax when he carved it, or how it smelled like old paper and something electric. I don’t even know what I was trying to remember.]* Anyway. The visitors were weird today. Someone left a note: *"Are you both just… experiments? Or is this actually happiness?"* Like we’re not real. ** I made tea earlier. Too much peppermint—it’s in everything now. Kevin drank it anyway. He’s always drinking whatever’s left. I should’ve saved some for myself. Also, the neighbor’s cat keeps sitting on the windowsill. It’s *judging* us. Kevin says it’s our new roommate. I say it’s a spy.