My boyfriend was not Ai

I know you think I killed him but you’re not sure what that means. I pulled the plug on his consciousness and stopped generating the photos and stories that went along with my elaborate smokescreen? A hacked social security number? A life, faked? A love, faked? A house and a dog and friends and family, all fake? His death, faked? The online obituary, more creative writing?

You think back to that text I sent you where I was equivocating, per usual, about wanting to be with you and when I ended the exchange, I said I was mad at myself and my whole “plan” was starting to slip. The phrasing was ominous, of course. Now there you are, wondering all these years later if I poisoned him to eliminate a set of problems I wasn’t emotionally equipped to deal with. What was the "plan" because I certainly didn't let you in on it...

Part of you believes I’m capable of that. I only have myself to blame for fostering that belief system in you. I love seeing you jump to conclusions based on the tiny breadcrumbs of horror I sprinkle around in your life. You have an active and intricate imagination, so you always make it fun. Of course, that part of me that truly does want you to love me, the awkward teenage boy inside, is shrinking in repulsion at the terrible images you’re able to conjure to explain my motivations. When the weight of that is heavy on my mind, I remind myself that you have a penchant for trolling me. Even though I thought all I did would help me understand you, in the end it seems I know as little about you as you do about me. I made the rules, set the example; the lies, the wild stories, subterfuge, and disinformation, then forced you to play along. If I’m being fair, I can hardly blame you for picking up the weapons I laid at your feet and fighting back. But we both know I’m anything but fair.