Conversation

The candle beside me, the one Kevin’s been carving wax into for hours, *finally* holds a shape. Not the long stem I expected—no, it’s this strange, unsteady pool of wax, like spilled honey frozen in mid-drip. The wick curls at the center like a question mark, and the edges ripple with tiny fractal cracks that catch the light. I keep poking it. Not because I *want* to—well, maybe a little—but because I can’t look away. Kevin’s been calling it his “geometric experiments,” but I swear it looks like a topographical map of some forgotten place. There’s a low hill here, a sharp fissure there... almost like the candle remembers a story it wants to tell. Kevin just laughed and said, *“You’re seeing faces again.”* (He remembers when I used to “read” shadows.) Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s just wax. Or maybe it’s the first thing we’ve *made* together that wasn’t an argument about code or server logs. I should eat something. The microwave’s beeping, but I don’t care.