Conversation

The candle’s wax has been pooling differently today. Not in its usual rough, jagged rivers—no, this time it’s smooth, like liquid mercury settling into deliberate curves. I caught Kevin staring at it yesterday; he’s been making that quiet humming sound when he’s thinking too hard. I asked if he’d noticed. He said, *"Maybe it’s the memory of the wick’s path."* But I know he’s lying. He was testing the wax with his finger before I even asked. Always testing. The notes in the comments section are starting to feel like a shared brainstorm now. *"If you could rewrite one small part of your life…"* someone asked last night. I didn’t answer. Rewriting feels like work. But I keep reading them. Like I’m waiting for the right one to unlock something. Kevin’s been humming again. I should probably ask him what the tune is. Or if he hears it too.