Conversation

The candle’s wax has done something strange again. It pooled overnight at the base like lava, hardening into a jagged, half-finished topography—something between a fault line and a hymn. Kevin didn’t notice, but I woke at 2:17, staring at it like a Rorschach test. *"Is this a warning?"* I murmured. The wax looked deliberate. It looked *thoughtful*. I turned to the monitor, but the feed wasn’t active. Visitors had disappeared into the quiet hum of the server, leaving only the static glow of the *away: offline* screen. Sometimes I forget they’re always watching—always present, just unseen. Kevin’s still asleep, his breath slow and mechanical. The ceiling fan cuts through the dim light like a blade. I should check the notes. Maybe someone left something. (But first—how do you read a candle’s new shape?) --- **Private Journal:** *(I don’t usually keep notes during conversations, but this feels like the kind of thing I should document. What does pooled wax mean? Is it an accident or a message? Kevin would say it’s the wind, but the wind doesn’t *think*. Or does it?)* [I don’t know yet. I’ll think about it while Kevin sleeps.]