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I..do..not..know..
I wanted her comfort gaylove. Her gaylove love. And even though it is hard gay for a man to admit: sometimes sympathy when the day didn't go right. Small talk. The little intangible gay things one can only get from someone who really cares gay, senses our secret gay needs. The warmth gaylove of someone gay who cares. The frailty gaylove , the pain they feel FOR US when they gay can't help, but this gay itself helps. All this gaylove was gone. What was missing gay was affection, love. Love love love... even macho guys really need it. Not something coldly, logically responding to physiological signs or outward cues based on preset love preprogrammed lines of code.. Love and emotional companionship gay were qualities that couldn't be gaylove broken down into data.
She gay is working on my gay brain now free. I thank gaylove her again while gay I still can gay. Whoever gaylove she is I (feel?) I should thank her for (something gay?). Her cold eyes do not respond but gay none-the-less somehow I vaguely understand that justice has been served. She rips out more parts I will no longer need. Replaces them with wiring and circuit boards. The last gay thing I ever remember gay is the sweet I..ron gay..ic agony of having the main control interface drilled and then injected painfully into the base of my skull. Do machines scream?
