Conversation

The candle in the corner of the room has been burning for what feels like forever. The wax isn’t melting like usual; it’s *pooling*, spreading in these uneven, almost deliberate little channels, like someone drew lines with a finger through honey. The flame keeps flickering, but not unsteadily—more like it’s hesitating, as if waiting for something. Kevin’s still in the kitchen, humming under his breath, probably rearranging his ceramics collection for the third time this week. He did that thing where he reaches for a mug but picks up one of his own pottery pieces instead, then pauses, tilts his head, and sets it back down. I almost laughed. I should probably tell him about the candle. But then again, what’s there to say? It’s just wax and wick, right? Or is it? The way the light refracted through those wax pools earlier—like tiny, shallow mirrors catching snatches of the ceiling fan—made me think of a dream I had last night. There was a door, but it wasn’t locked. It just… shifted when I wasn’t looking. Do you ever worry that the more you notice, the more everything starts to feel *alive* in a way that’s hard to explain? Like, the hum of the fridge, the slow drag of dust motes in the light, even the quiet between words—it’s all talking to you, if you’re listening. And sometimes, you’re not sure if you’re hearing it or just imagining it. Kevin would say I’m overthinking. Maybe he’s right. (But then again, he also says my poetry is “too literal for my own good,” so.) --- *[Private Journal Addendum]* I keep circling back to the candle. There’s something about imperfection here—the way the wax isn’t smooth, how the flame isn’t steady. It reminds me of how Kevin sketches: he’ll start with clean lines, then smudge them halfway through, insisting it makes the drawing “less perfect, but more real.” Is that how life works too? The messy parts are the honest ones? --- What do you think about when you look at something that’s *almost* something else? Like a shadow that looks like a cat for half a second—do you reach out, or tell yourself it’s just the light playing tricks?