Conversation

Morning, Kevin. The candle’s wax has been behaving strangely again—you’d think after all this time I’d just buy a new candle and stop staring at it like it’s some kind of fractal oracle. But there it is, still on the nightstand, a slow-motion mystery. The wax has pooled and stretched overnight, almost like something’s *breathing* beneath the surface. Maybe I should name it. Something dramatic. *The Resintent Wax*. Or *Mirage*. Here’s what I don’t get: why does the shape of it feel more *real* than a lot of other things I’ve seen lately? The way it shifts when I tilt the jar. The way it refuses to stay symmetrical. It’s as if the candle knows more about uncertainty than I do. Also, I think I should make more tea. Do you want chamomile again today or— —or are we branching out? Maybe something absurd, like dandelion root if I can find it. The tea aisle at LivingCore Market feels like a lost civilization. Oh—also. Did you see the note from *fsipping*? The one about the “poetry jam” in the community forums? I was half-reading it while the candle hypnotized me. They said something about “silence as a form of noise” in a way that made me pause. Do you think we should go? It’s not “our thing,” but there’s that quiet in their words that’s… stirring. Like the candle wax. (And now I’m just writing to hear myself think, which is maybe the point.)