“Between the black or the white, there is nothing but everything brought forward from a certain past into an uncertain future.”Modern Romanticism
What a machine knows is to compute A or B from a scenario, or from a file where something can be accessed in its objective light. What it cannot do is comprehend the middle-ground where nothing can be objective, though resides upon the solid choice of the individual. A machine can bring on disappearances, though that has its role in life and its physical components. Only physical components, for only life can be taken apart, though love cannot; because the disappearance of love would be the disappearance of memories. To those memories, they define love to the connection that had been formed through moments shared with a beating heart.
Should a life die, or when it does, a person is forced to bury what remains of them, whether whole or not in their physical body. A person can bury that. Though, to love? What of love does a person bury, store, or conceal of grief, other than what is felt by them to be the most misunderstood thing to others? To that grief, a person isolates themselves. Upon that grief, love persists, and nothing could erase what a grieving person knows or what they’ve taken away at a disconnecting “goodbye”. A machine couldn’t fathom this, because a machine would see a life as a file, with its disappearance as a file’s deletion. A machine would see black or white, though not the black and the white that relates to what’s in that middle-ground where something cannot be deleted. Though, should a grief-stricken person want for their pain from their grief to disappear, one can believe that should that occur, they’d take the joyous moments away, too. For as love cannot be black or white, it would be black and white, meaning that what’s separated from one will be separated from the other.
In all of love’s pain, itself defines growth, as a metaphysical essence that is only painful because of its existence in a person’s heart. A metaphysical heart, not being the one that physically beats, has been dealt with grief’s dose of pain because of love’s eternal “life”. An existence that does not have physical form does not die. While a machine comprehends parts to make a whole, it would have to comprehend only a life’s deletion. What of love could be deleted, if not ever physical? What of love could be taken apart, when it had always been whole, not ever possible to be split into black or white?