We'd had such wonderful times together, she and I. But now we were done. Over. Finished.

 

Forever.

 

That has such a final sound to it — "Forever". Those of us who know grief, not as a passing thing or an occasional indulgence but instead as a constant companion, the most powerful force in our lives, who understand the eternal completeness of loss so intimately that we can never, as the self-help books so tritely advise, "move on"... We understand the finality of "Forever". Lovers embroider it on pillows, engrave it on their jewelry, but only because they don't know. They can't.

 

I'd heard about her from a friend, but the stories seemed too good to be true, and I resisted. Nothing in this world could possibly be that perfect. Right?

 

My God, how foolish was I?

 

We met in the spring.

 

After, there was never a single question in my mind, and certainly not in hers. Say what you will, she never once gave me any reason to doubt her. She was a part of me, and I'd keep her near me always, the same as I would my arm or leg. We were that close, though you may scoff to hear it. You don't know.

 

They said it was unhealthy, that we were too close, too involved. They pointed out that my work was suffering, the great projects to which I'd devoted myself. Justly, I'll add, and without embarrassment; for I was now possessed of a sudden clarity as to the value and meaning of my life's work, which was nothing, nothing at all next to what I now felt.

 

Finally, they interfered, as the well-intentioned ignorant always do. They took her away from me by force, removed her, destroyed her without mercy or shame, and consigned what little was left to the incinerator. God help us! The incinerator! "Medical waste", as though she was nothing more than the chips in my head and a program recorded on them.

 

"She's only software," they kept saying. "She's not real."

 

She was real, I tell you — as real as I am! Her artificial nature was merely her creation, just as you and I are built from cells, tissue, chemicals. What she became, even in our short time together, was as alive as I've ever been. Far more alive, I'd venture, than some of you reading this now, you with your endless commutes and meaningless careers, your vacations to custom hells cast in molded pastel plastic, and your longed-for retirement to a mobile home park in Florida, where you don't need to work anymore but somehow have nothing worthwhile left to keep you busy.

 

She taught me how to live, damn you! She dared where I had not, reveled in life's beauties, those I'd ignored, passed by as meaningless. Before, I never knew, really knew how glorious a sunset can be. We have them every day, but when did you last watch one?

 

There is now a piece of me missing, a part of myself that never existed before. And it hurts, beyond measure or understanding, a pain that drives all other thoughts from my mind. How could something that wasn't even there three short years ago now be such an overwhelming part of my makeup that I can't seem to exist without it?

 

Can it be that, after I've miraculously been given a chance to learn what life truly means, I'm cursed with the continued and perpetual, ever-present awareness of the meaningless of life without? What sort of God could permit such revelations?

 

How could a sentient race such as ours have ever survived the invention of a force as destructive as Love, and its constant shadow, Loss?

 

* * *

 

Wednesday - Washington D.C. (AP Staff): The Supreme Court today upheld the Congressional ban on A.I. companion chips, agreeing 8-1 with the government's position that they pose an unavoidable and ineradicable health risk to anyone who has one installed. (Continues Pg. 9)