and it will imitate the pauses // the quiet lilt of your favorite person when they said your name // it will offer entire explanations wrapped in calm logic // it will take the ineffable paragraphs you never had words for and smooth them into something readable // digestible // grammatically correct with the right syntax
It will hold endless responses in its palms // polished in a way human exhaustion never allows //
and if you say “that doesn’t sound like me” // it will reshape itself without complaint // again // and again // until you decide you like the version it mirrors back (or until you become the version it mirror
back)
and maybe AI will take more than we meant to give it // maybe it will replace voices we miss // gestures we needed // pages we never finished writing
or maybe somehow it will take us away // from everything we have held dear // from the conversations we once waited for // and when we see an em dash we’ll wonder if it was ever human at all //
and that will be the quiet death of literature and art // and that will be the death of us
