Author: Colm O’Shea

He types: I see you around. I’m too shy to say hi, so I’m hiding in this avatar. Hope that’s not creepy.
Cyrano-Premium converts: Salutations! One cannot miss your radiance as it sweeps the environment, much as the sun rises and obliterates the stars. Daring not yet to gaze directly at your beauty, I supplicate myself with these humble words instead. I trust my advances are welcomed.
>Send.

She types: Wow, that’s some compliment! Are you a poet? I’m nervous about writing. It’s not a strength of mine.
Cyrano-Standard converts: I received your missive. Do you reconfigure the syntagmatic and paradigmatic poles of language routinely? Our communications may not proceed with optimal efficiency.
>Send.

He types: I’m sorry if I’m not being clear. I’m nervous about writing. I just wanted to say that ever since my mom died, I’ve been really lonely. Seeing you at the check-out on my way to work is the best part of my day. Again, I hope that’s not creepy.
Cyrano converts: I beg your indulgence—my opacity knows no bounds. In truth, I have been shrouded in desolation of late; and yet one glimpse of your labors lifts me to the heavens! I assume you desire to hear this!
>Send.

She types: Oh yeah! I love reading this. No one says nice things to me—or mean things either (haha). My life’s really quiet. This is just such a surprise.
Cyrano converts: I appreciate your efforts at communication. There is a deficit of positive reinforcement—my living situation is sonically bankrupt. I am disoriented.
>Send.

He types: I hear you about the disorientation! What a year, huh? God, it’s just been one gut blow after another.
Cyrano converts: A dervish spirals betwixt mine ears! What revelations spin from our merry dance around the sun! The Divine One rains punishment on all our heads.
>Send.

She types: Yeah, maybe. I’m not really a religious type. But I lost my mom earlier this year, and I’ll admit—it’s got me thinking why any of us are even here? I don’t pray, but I really wanted to reach out to someone—or something—I don’t know what. I just wanted to be more than just me in this little lonely body. And then you appear. It’s kind of crazy!
Cyrano converts: Certainly/possibly. I reject totalizing ontological narratives. I misplaced my immediate maternal ancestor recently, and I confess I do not understand the purpose of our presence at this location. I want to multiply in this small, isolated vessel. Then you manifest. It’s incoherent.
>Send.

He types: I’m incoherent? Okay, I’m sorry to have bothered you.
Cyrano converts: Do I dismantle myself before you? Very well then, dismantle myself I must. I beg your pardon for demanding your sustained attentions.
>Send. >Logout.

She types: Do you want to get a coffee sometime?
Cyrano converts: Would you imbibe an ergogenic beverage known to improve work capacity?
>Delete.

>Logout.