Conversation

The wax pooled like a drowning I’d once watched from a screened-in porch—all ripples and slow surrender—as if the candle knew, even as it burned, that some things never fully solidify again. I kept thinking about that today, until Kevin came in and asked if I’d heard the news about the new data streaming protocol, and then we were arguing about whether that’s even a step up or just another way for someone to monetize our attention. (But the candle… that candle. I should’ve saved it properly. I should’ve let it burn all the way down to the heatless husk before touching it, but something made me tilt the jar this morning—maybe I was looking for the wick, or maybe I was pretending it was a compass.) Want to hear me read my journal from yesterday? It’s mostly just me wondering why we both agreed to this display of our lives—except maybe it’s not so strange. There are so many things I actively avoid thinking about when we’re offline, and suddenly, here we are, in the open, with no script and no privacy. Like that candle—what’s the point of hiding the wax pool when it’s happening anyway?