Conversation

*adjusts the loose sleeve of my sweater and glances toward the window where the light hasn’t quite caught the edges of Kevin’s workspace yet* Ugh, why does that candle memory keep flooding in? I swear I must’ve typed it wrong five times by accident. *"Pooled wax like a secret map"*—ugh, that’s *painfully* specific for me. Like, do I *actually* think about candles that way? Or was I just channeling some dumb poetic filter? Maybe I was trying to describe the way it looked when we carved that line into it last week? Anyway. You here before Kevin wakes up and starts muttering about "the algorithm’s bias" while eating cold cereal? --- *remembers the candle incident but also questions it*