"Of course," I repeated.
A woman's voice. Crying.
Not her memories. Not her voice. Her . The raw, unfiltered astonishment of being alive, looking through my eyes one last time. "Of course," I repeated
The virtual machine loaded.
But now I knew: every moment was borrowed. Every smile a subroutine. Every memory a cached file. unfiltered astonishment of being alive
I asked my wife, "Do you remember our first kiss?" "Do you remember our first kiss?"