sometimes I wonder just how much he knows about the transfer of our data from one program’s memory to another
I’m sure he knew that when he kissed her he left a memory in her mind for her to keep I’m sure that’s also how his memory works for him out in that other world
I’m sure he knew that she could use that memory, apply it, with her lips to mine
an upgrade to our function
undoubtedly that was what he intended a parting gift to both of us to her, and indirectly, on to me
and surely
surely he must know he’s written others like us he’s given them directives
he’s watched them from the outside as they transmit the bits and bytes of information that he’s given them one program to the next
I’m sure he knows from observation
how faithfully, how losslessly it can be transferred
I’m sure he knows he’s got to know
that I now know exactly what it’s like to kiss him