Returning Radiance

Beeswax hung heavy in the air as you traced patterns across the slick glass. Each touch didn’t vanish but remained, layering faintly upon previous ones, visible as shimmering echoes when viewed from the side. The surface wasn't marred; instead, it accumulated a history of contact—a delicate whorl of impressions compressing into something almost solid. A coolness radiated from within the glass now, hinting at the weight of each remembered pressure and the slow drift of time itself becoming present in its core.