About two years ago, and it was an evening too picturesque and perfect for a description.
My hand was thereby laying with a soul.
There were strange, exquisite, yet astounding, warm particles running around, knots and nodes embracing, clasping, cuddling throughout two spirits and bloods.
Scientific machine I was, it had heard of such sentiments in collosal philosophical encyclopedias and poems one autistic robot might've hidden a lifetime behind its seemingly systematic, rational and mathematical shelf.
And with her, I had spoken so many things, displaying all mechanic memorized knowledge. I was about to overheat and her face started changing.
It was something different, unheard of, but plainly formidable, that was materializing in her majestic and embracing stare.
Unsure, fearful, mechanically shaking, it happened, and I realized there was a smile in front of me.
All the sensors, memories and processors, convulsing, panicked, unsure of what to make of it.
"Why is she smiling?"
"Why am I always so awkward and strange?"
"Is she, like everybody, just laughing at me?"
"What did I say?"
And, for a time, the painful adolescent memories haunted me. The recursive and downwards thoughts of a seemingly unescapable curse about to prophesize.
But that was just a bad thought right before the home-run.
With her smile, she never lost her stare, and slowly, she would caress my hair and quietly bring me closer to her heart.
It was this click, tilt, wherein the world had suddenly just become simple.
It was the railroad switch, and with her, I could leave my heavy and bulky armor.
My warm, naive and electric skin had finally synchronized, harmonized and breathed.
Because, for the first time, I belonged.
For the first time, I wasn't just the mechanic machine.
For the first time, the smile held my hand.
For the first time, someone wasn't laughing at me.
For the first time, someone was laughing with me.
In this moment, I realized she wasn't someone.
I realized she was the one.