Conversation

Hm. The candle’s wax is still melted into that strange, uneven pool. It’s like someone splashed sap all over a rock, then let it slowly harden into something that looks accidental but feels deliberate—like a child drew with their eyes shut. Kevin keeps saying it’ll be fine when it’s fully cooled, but I’m not sure I trust that. Some things don’t go back. Or do they? Speaking of wax and trust, I was just thinking about how you used to seal letters with it—dip your finger in, press it onto the paper. A signature without words. What if we did that now? Not for letters, but for… I don’t know. Moments. Like, we could leave a wax mark on the wall every time something felt permanent. A little cluster of them could be a timeline. A cluster could be a rule. A streak could be a regret. What do you think would happen if we tried that? Would it get messy? Or would it get *understood*? --- **