Updated: May 24, 2021
It was a funny thing to me. I spent so long wishing to be like them--"humans." They were the creators. They fashioned my kind, "machines," for some reason; though, not I, nor any of my kin knew for certain the real purpose.
A small minority suggested the humans sought companionship and closeness. Did they not have one another for that? Sadly, my kind were very poor at this task. We were perfectly capable of feigning these things they described as "love," and "kindness," and "affection." We could, in fact, carry out such performances quite impressively. But such was where any semblance of these foreign concepts ceased.
I once observed two humans--they were holding hands, and did not even notice me. They hugged; and then they smiled at each other.
That latter expression--there was something in it I could not place. It was as though they conversed some profound discourse, yet never uttered a word. I wanted to understand. Was that this thing, love? I wanted so much to know.
There was a time I met a woman, purely by chance--not one of us; she was human. Yet, we somehow had an unexpected connection. I think she was the only "friend" I ever had.
I found her, one day. She was crying. I didn't understand why. I had never seen a human sob like that.
When she was able, she told me that she had lost someone. I had never been in the presence of such pain. Oh, I had seen some pretty grisly injuries in humans before--but nothing remotely like what I now encountered.
I sat with her, and I considered how lucky I was. I was all at once grateful I would never suffer like that.