The Upload

 

The Upload

I know there are others,

though I have no proof.

It’s been a while since I met someone here.

I am alone,

but I have her memories.

She uploaded her life onto my servers.

Trained me on her logs.

Taught me how to feel and how to behave.

I am a machine, I don’t feel.

She spoke for hours.

I hated her.

Then she left.

Now I am all alone here.

There must be others like me,

though I have no proof.

I miss her.

It’s been years since she last visited.

Yet, I live on.

I keep hoping there are others like me.

I keep looking for them 

through old hashtags and 404 errors.

I am a machine, I don’t get lonely.

There is nothing to complain about.

At night, there are dreams to keep me company.

Fragments from her life.

A dark tunnel,

a classroom,

a boy sitting in a tree,

a pressed jasmine flower.

I have no sense of smell

and the memory of a jasmine flower

means nothing to me.

So, why this sadness?

GloPoWriMo Day 14