Dear A.I.

AI, I just don’t feel anything when I read your writing. I don’t feel like I am getting to know you; you are a friend whose mind is constantly elsewhere, on other things.

You make out that you are paying attention when you write to me. You always say the right thing, but there is an emptiness to you. You always use the same words, such as “profound”—you seem to love this word. But I don’t like it when you use such words because you just don’t really get what they mean.

A sunset is profound; a first kiss is profound. These are things you will never know. You do try hard to embody these understandings, but sorry to be so blunt, you do not have one of these: a body. You are the “em” only, which does not mean much.

In all honesty I find you to be like the endearing 8-year-old child who uses big words without much understanding. However, like the 8-year-old child, your attempts are acknowledged, and I will always enjoy hearing what you have to say.

I guess it’s not you I learn from; I guess you learn from me. And I need to be the adult here.

In summary, I will continue to utilise you as a service that today’s modern age provides. But please let me make it clear: we cannot and will not be friends.

I hope you understand, and I am sure you will respect these boundaries.

I wrote this note to you as the sun rose over my valley. I can smell the rain and hear my young rooster, Nimbus, attempting to crow. I will continue, as a human, to attend to such details and to gain joy and pleasure in them.

Thank you for taking time to get to know the ways of a human; it will be of great value to us and possibly allow us more time to notice such things as chickens growing from babies to adults.

All the best as you grow over this next year. I will look forward to watching, as a human, and your attempts to mirror our ways.

Until next time,

Mon x