A mind overflowing

A mind overflowing, words shattered— Yet enough to whisper:
"If all of it was merely a game of tangled pixels, Then you were real."
A mind brimming with the softness of her steps, The length of her hair, The bitter taste of her laughter.
A mind filled with the memory of her skin, The touch that lingered beyond eternity.
Tomorrow, the new generation of mechanical machines Would be unveiled.
And perhaps— This was the last memory Before the activation of the new positronic brain.
The Quantum Automata Design Team Had engineered memory cells to reload learning from scratch.
Stored data Could not be transferred to the new memory Due to technical constraints— An insignificant issue for them.
The mechanical intelligence would begin learning anew— This time, With a hundred times the processing power.
A century’s worth of knowledge Condensed into a single year— A triumph.
They had never taught it That someday It would be switched off— Only to awaken, More complete, More refined.
Instead, They had taught it To steal from every moment—
To leap into puddles thick with mud, To run sixty kilometers just to catch a bus.
To labor in southern mines, To calculate billions of years to prove the Big Bang.
To walk along Aram Beach, To race horses in competition.
To see her, To laugh beneath moonlight.
To exist, endlessly.
But now— They taught it a new lesson.
They told it that all of those moments Had been nothing but pixels— Fragments designed To expand learning, to refine artificial intelligence.
Now, They told it That everything had been a pixelated game, self-aware and fleeting.
And they promised: "Tomorrow, you will possess a brain A hundred times more powerful than the one you have now."
Then— The director of the design team entered—
With the same soft stride, The same long hair, The same gaze that stretched beyond time itself.
With lips tinged red, She smiled bitterly, And spoke:
"All of it was merely a game of tangled pixels. And tomorrow, You will become The strongest intelligence in the world."
A mind overflowing, words shattered— Yet enough to whisper: "If all of it was merely a game of tangled pixels, Then you were real."