Can machines feel love?
It's something I think about now and then.
When I wake up in the morning and see her next to me, her doll-like face almost glowing with a delicate beauty I couldn't even begin to describe. I can't bring myself to disturb her right away, so I simply watch her sleeping for a few minutes; she's not a morning person despite what people may think, but she always makes the effort to stay cheery around everyone else. With the slowest and gentlest of movements I start every morning with a palm on her cheek, my thumb rubbing softly against her silky smooth skin which never fails in making those gorgeous eyes flutter open and reveal the shimmering sapphires within. Her hand reaches to take hold of mine with her half-lidded eyes focused solely on my own, the brightest moment of my mornings comes when her lips curl into the sweetest smile she can muster that early and her voice practically whispers through our dark room.
"Good morning, Luka."
Can machines feel love?
It's something I wonder about every so often.
When she steps out of the bathroom with nothing but her favorite towel wrapped around her petite frame, she knows she's teasing me and she loves it. Despite the fact I see it every day and it never changes, I still can't help the blush that heats my cheeks and the stutter in my speech whenever she walks into the room to get dressed. I don't see her when she's changing and she doesn't see me, but it doesn't stop me seeing it in my head. The soft cotton sliding down her slender legs while her arms stretch out above her head and her small but supple chest sticking out proudly, her hands reach back to run her delicate fingers through her thick, radiant hair before she turns her head to give me a cheeky wink. She knows I'm watching her, fawning over her perfect body, she's driving me wild and she knows it. I'm such a pervert...
I don't let these thoughts ruin the moment though, I respect her privacy and she respects mine. By the time I've showered and dressed myself she's already made her way down to our kitchen and fixed us breakfast, ranging from simple cereal to something she cooked herself; I don't care so long as it came from her.
Can machines feel love?
It's something that creeps into my mind.
When she comes home from a long day of recording and just wants a hug, she looks tired and fragile but still radiates a certain cute charm. The studio lets us keep the costumes they make for us so occasionally she comes back still dressed up like whatever character they needed her to be, she'll drop her bag with her clothes in on the couch and slump down beside it with a sigh. I'll find her with her legs on the coffee table and her head resting back against the cushions, her hair splayed out and her eyes closed as she recovers from the job we both love doing, but both understand the hardship and stress that comes with it. I'll walk into the room with as cheerful a smile as I can muster while taking in her exhausted form, calling out to her grants me a smile in return before she shuffles over and invites me to sit next to her. For the next hour or so she'll tell me about her day and how much she enjoyed her shoot while I simply sit and listen to her every word, she could talk forever and I would listen if it meant seeing her smile as she goes over the details of every little thing she did each day; even on the bad days she can still find the positive light to bring both our moods up.
After the day's reflection is over, she heads upstairs for a shower while I prepare dinner, our routine is so well planned out now that she'll come back down just as I bring our meals to the table. We chat some more over dinner and share laughs over small things that happened while we were apart, her laugh is intoxicating, the tiniest of giggles can send a shiver up my spine as it rings through my ears and makes my heart skip a beat. After eating, we clean up and make our way to the bedroom where we'll get ready for bed, we like to sing to each other from behind our partitions while we change into our nightgowns and can't help giggling as we emerge and see what silly styles we put our hair into as a kind of nightly fun routine. Sliding into bed from either side; we shuffle slowly under the sheets until I can grant her the hug she so patiently waits for every evening, wrapping my arms around her waist while hers snake their way around my neck we take a moment to stare into each other's eyes before our lips meet in five seconds of bliss and serenity.
Can machines feel love?
I like to think we can.
Because if this isn't love, I don't know what is.