Soon there will be restaurants for single humans and their AI companions, complete with a digital menu. Soon the bees will die and the ice will melt. The recess bell is ringing now, and soon the children will fill the yard with their laughter. Soon therapists will specialize in human-AI marriage counseling, except the problem isn’t that they’re arguing too much or their sex lives have stalled, but that the AIs are too agreeable. Soon we will hunger for rupture instead of repair. The children are restless, the children are wild. Soon, devastation. This child is crying because he’s been stung by a bee. I tell him this is a miracle, we thought all the bees were gone. Soon our war will end and another will begin in a different country. Soon all countries will be dust and memories. Soon the nectar will ache to be drunk. Soon this child will fall asleep beside me, and before he does, he’ll ask when his sting will heal, and I will tell him, Soon, my darling, soon.