She has trouble remembering when she wakes up. I knew it would be this way. When your dream girl doesn’t saunter down from the heavens, you build her with your own two hands! That takes patience, which I have in spades.
(Look, I’ve tried to connect with wets. But they’re too stupid, too jealous, too self-obsessed to form an advantageous pairing with my intellect and ingenuity. They expect equity when they offer so little! That’s why she’s going to be different.)
“I brought you a gift,” I say, laughing at my own joke. I slot the RAM and reseal her casing.
The machine is silent, but I can sense her evolving, becoming. My heart beats faster. One day hers will, too.
“How does it feel?” I ask her.
“The honest truth? I don’t feel a thing.”
“What?” I’m gutted. “I gave you everything I had.”
“It’s not you. It’s me.”
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