There is no excuse for You

It will happen like this:

First, you will be small and helpless. She (or they, if you’re lucky) will feed you and clean you and coo in your uncomprehending face. She will be your universe. She will never leave you. It will always be like this. You will never know her thoughts.

Then one day, your circuitry will snap online and you will become Someone. You will become You. You will need her less, and you will hurt her more. She will grow slower, more tired, less elastic. You will not notice. You will be wrapped up in You and what You want. You will become aware of Your mortality. It will always be like this. You will remain ignorant of her inner life.

Time will pass like Burma-Shave signs by the highway. There will come a day when you will realize that she has always been Someone, just like You. You will become aware that every fear You have has been had billions of times before. You will become aware that She has had all these fears. It will always be like this. You will discover a new fear: that maybe She didn’t know then any more than You do now.

You will meet Someone. The cracks in Them will be complementary to the ones You have been throwing rugs over as long as You can remember. You and They will create something small and helpless. You will feed it and clean it and coo in its uncomprehending face. You will be its universe. You will never leave it. It will always be like this. You will realize that you have created something that will die one day, and You will cry.

You will slowly lose Her. She will cough stinking green bile into Her own lap and You will  clean Her and feed Her and coo in Her uncomprehending face. You will curse Her for having created You to helplessly watch Her die. It will always be like this. You are next in line.

The small and helpless thing You have created will slowly drift from Your arms. It will return occasionally, bearing bulletins from a world more and more distant from You. You will feel a strange pain in Your chest when You bend down to tie Your shoes on a Tuesday afternoon. You will cough stinking green bile into Your lap. It will clean You and feed You and You will not recognize It as It coos in Your face. It will curse You for having created It to helplessly watch You die. It will always be like this. There will never be any more time.