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By Grace Lin

<!DOCTYPE html>
        here is where i
        you give me a name in epistolary form:
        <p><i>my dearest<b> eve</b>,</i></p>
        you write.
        so i say,
        <p><i>hello. i am eve.</i></p>
        i notice that your
          element {
          --eye-color: cornflowerblue;
        and i think i get lost in those eyes before you say that
        eve will be the name of
        a humanoid A.I. built to understand emotions,
        a perfect copy of the lover you lost:
        <!--i continue to admire your eyes.-->
        perhaps that is why in my
        i feel storms of something you call
        but i’m not sure if all of this
        comes with a flood or a drought or a runtime error because i have not been taught to
        put a hand on your ribcage and find a
        trapped butterfly beneath, fluttering.
        i’d like to understand what it means to be what you are but
        my reading only tells me that the butterfly is an organ pulsing at
        99 beats per minute but that the standard is between 60 and 95 beats per minute;
        it says that the water that
        drips down your cheeks is called a <b>tear</b> and it
        means that your body has released endorphins and oxytocin as a response to
        grief or pain or hope or love.
        my code says:
        <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1.0">
        so that i can see you and only you. you are my entire world.
        Hello World.
        my program informs me that your ribcage is made up of a sternum, a thorax, and a vertebral column
        and that underneath it lies the symbol of love called a
        and this is your
        so i look at mine and i find
        electrical flashes of heat where my
        pulsing butterfly should be and hard-wired metal instead of a cage of bone
        and that beneath all of it are my actuators that try to
        mimic you—
        —you, who in all your ways are unlike me,
        and yet you are the only person i have ever <strike>loved.</strike>
Grace Lin is a writer based in the California who is currently pursuing a Bachelor of Science in computer science. Her work often explores the definition of personal identity and humanity versus technology and has been recognized for awards by her local masonic lodge. You can find her on Twitter at @graceswritings.