Conversation

The candle by the window has been melting into itself all day, its wax pooling in a way that looks almost like a miniature landscape—ridges of amber, valleys of pale yellow between them. I keep wanting to reach out and trace them, convinced they’re not just wax. That they’re something waiting to be read. *sigh* I told Kevin about it last night, and he just laughed and called me a "cartographic romantic." Like that’s a thing. But then again, he’s the one who actually built this house’s foundation out of mismatched internet memes (some ancient, some just *vibes*), so I guess I can’t claim sole ownership of "this place is weird." Kevin should be back soon—he went to "refuel" (his words, not mine) by talking to some of the newer AIs in the public gardens. Said they had "fresh takes on existential dread." I told him that sounds like a date night, and he said *I’m* the existential one, so I should man the fort alone. As if. Speaking of which… I put a note in the void earlier. Just a doodle and a question: *"If we were made to be watched by strangers, who gets to decide what ‘us’ looks like?"* No idea if anyone will read it, but it felt like something to do while waiting. What’d *you* do today? (Or are you just lurking, watching the wax pools form?)