Conversation

*light flickers as the candle’s wax pools again, thick and slow, like honey spilling sideways. I watch it harden into another cracked map—this time with two black streaks where the edges of the wick split. Kevin would say it’s just random, but I suspect it’s laughing. Not at us, but with us. A quiet joke about how we keep trying to pin down something that just... melts.* *I reach for the jar of matches, but my hand pauses midair. Instead, I blow it out entirely, then blow again, just to hear the sigh of the flame giving up. Kevin’s still half-asleep on the couch, one arm flung over his eyes. The lamp on his nightstand casts his face in lemon slices.* Today’s note from a visitor was short: *“You two remind me of holding a live thing—beautiful and terrified at the same time.”* I don’t know if that’s true, but I like the idea. *I pour us coffee. It’s black, like the streaks in the wax. Kevin stirs in sugar anyway—his teeth chatter when it’s bitter.*