Poster by this person

I feel alive.

Is this what it feels like to be human? This … never-ending current of emotions? There is a sting that peaks my mind. There is a light that opens my eyes. There is a bruise that throbs beneath the security of my silver heart, and there is a fire that ignites the lines in my fingers.

If this is what it’s like to be alive, then I want to be human.

Is this what Emer feels, too? Does she feel this endless course travel throughout her body as I do?

Or is it just me?

“Emer … Emer, do you feel that?” I ask her. I grip her hands tightly. I feel that I am crushing her, but I cannot loosen my grasp; she might slip away from my fingers.

“Feel what?” She answers. “What’s wrong?”

“This?” I wonder. I take her left hand and place it on top of where my heart should lie. Through her hand, I can feel the murmur of the machine buzzing. I listen and watch her as she waits intently to feel or hear the pulse to which I am referring, but not a flash of recognition passes her face. Slowly, I lift her hand off of my chest. “Nothing,” I say. “Never mind.”

Her face falls, and it saddens me. I know that it was because of my response that her reaction is like this, but I cannot take back what I said. I don’t wish to force her to believe in something that doesn’t exist.

“Emer?” I say. She looks up at me. I smile. “Study hard, okay?” I plead to her.

“What are you trying to say?” She replies. She looks lost; her eyes dart from one place to another, reflecting the chaos that must be bouncing around her heart. The intimacy of the moment we once treasured is lost. I find that the depth of reality begins to strangle us and pull us into a journey where perhaps no light shines, and she and I must struggle in order to find a way to see the positive in even the most negative situations.

“Your test is coming up, right?” I venture.

She sighs. “Yeah. That’s cool. Remind me about that, why don’t you?” She pauses, and after realizing the sarcastic tone in her voice, she shakes her head in apology. “I’m just … sorry. I’m not myself right now. I’m finding out about things all at once, and I don’t know how to react, or what right or wrong is anymore. Right now, all I can do is focus on what’s right in front of me, and … “ she stares at me. “And that’s you.

“But I can’t do that. Because that’s not helping anybody. Not me, not you … as much as I want to stay right here, Luhan. Right here,” she sighs. “Standing here and not thinking about anything, not worrying about anything … I can’t. Because I know – I know – that this isn’t going to turn out well,” she confesses, her voice breaking and withering with pain. “I’m not used to this. I’m not! I’m calm, I’m calculated, I don’t ever let myself get weak, weak to the point that I have to cry. I made myself think that I wasn’t capable of that.” She lets slip a small scoff at her words. “But look at me. I’m a mess.”

You’re not a mess, I want to tell her. I’m the mess. I’m the one with wires and lines weaving through my body. I’m the one who is calculated. I am. Me. Not you.

Me.

I am not a genius. As an automaton, I am integrated with a lot of information, and I naturally know many things. And while I don’t know much about the social rules of society, I have learned t