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Dear Regrator,
I hope this letter finds you well. Please excuse my atrocious handwriting. I wanted to discuss this with you face to face but, alas, I’m a coward. Forgive me. All I ask of you is to read this letter.
I've lived in this world for 500 years and I've never once loved. You might think it's pitiful, but frankly, I've never felt the appeal either. The company of my segments was always more than enough.
And then I met you.
You are the bane of my existence. I often wish that we never met. You're annoying, you’re greedy, you lay claim to everything that once belonged to me only. Your face lives rent-free in my head. Your scent lingers in my office when you’re done with the paperwork and leave. It must be a drug. At least it drugs me. I’ve tried to recreate it in my lab but can never achieve a perfect replica. Without its wearer, a perfume is just a scent. I wish I could find the right words to ask you to stay.
I’m sad when you leave. And I always thought that sadness is a ridiculous sentiment. I think I’m going insane. You barged into my life and trampled all I hold dear. I’m disintegrating. In truth, it’s not about you, or something you did. You never do wrong. I think something is seriously wrong with me. I hope that this knowledge doesn't aggrieve you.
You're an eyesore. A constant distraction I cannot escape. I’ve tried. I failed. I end up craving your presence. Your voice overrides the internal monologue in my head. I don’t want to miss a word you say. Do you remember, you once told me my lab misses some decorations? Now I think so too. And do you even know my general stance on decor? I think it’s useless, impractical. But you seem to be very fond of it. And my will bends on its own. If I asked, would you help me pick the best ornaments that suit your taste?
I remember by heart all the fine details that make you you. Somehow they’ve become my most valued intel. You prefer heels to flat sole, your wardrobe is total black; the shade of black that you favour is called ‘obsidian’. I didn’t know there were shades to black. You love the feeling of fur. You’re not a big fan of cake, you think it’s too sweet. You have a mole on your left wrist that looks like a small heart. It’s adorable. It’s usually hidden. Your right brow arches a little higher than left. You always begin your day with a cup of tea, and your soap smells like Qixings after it rains. You genuinely love your economic theory. Tell me, why do I care?
I’m powerless to shake off the feeling. Whenever you're out on a business trip, I become restless. I always send out a segment to silently follow your footsteps to ensure your safety <...> Alright, I admit, I've been spying on you. I'm despicable. Do you frown as you read this? I will probably know. I accept your rage. But I can't bear to think what if anything happens to you. I wouldn’t know how to live with myself.
I’m by no means sentimental. My brain is the synonym of ‘rational’. I know you are more than capable to fare for yourself. You don’t need me. But I need you. My whole body is artificial, and yet my heart aches. If I can no longer see you, tell me, what do I do? I think I might die on the spot. Without your ear, words are merely expended breath. Without your company, the things I busy myself with are merely expended effort.
I long for you. Even if you came intending to kill me, I would still be here waiting for you. If only I could, I would let you use me as your stepping stone, with zero objections, and I would cherish every moment of it. I now know how it feels to be lonely. That’s exactly how I feel in between our sparse meetings. I envy your subordinates for being able to see you every day. Do they have any idea of their own privilege?
Regrator, I think I’m in love with you.
When it comes to love, I’m ignorant and uneducated. I didn’t think that love is supposed to hurt. Doesn’t everyone say it’s the most beautiful feeling? The enormity of emotions you evoke in me is a mixed bag, but few of them could be called particularly pleasing. I’m constantly crippled with fear. I'm losing control. I’ve started paying attention to my own looks. I spend too much time preparing for your visits. It messes up my routine, invades my mindspace, and the projects I’ve spent decades on now all seem utterly meaningless.
The only one with the meaning is you. You sap out the essence of my life by simply existing. I’ve started to doubt that those days before we met could even be called a life. But you, you make me feel this way. You replace everything with yourself. Such selfishness. And yet, I don’t hate you.
I don’t know much about love. For all this mess, I wish I had a better explanation. But I don’t. All the conclusions I draw inevitably lead me to one intersection.
Is there a chance that you share the sentiment? I’m terrified to find out. But I can’t run from it anymore, I think I have no choice but to act. If it’s a yes, there’s a ring in this box of chocolates. It’s for you. I hope you don’t find it hideous. If it’s a no, then throw it away, or do with it as you please. I swear to never bother you. Just treat this letter as a foolish prank. Forget about everything. If it makes you upset, I can erase these memories altogether.
I think that's about it. I won’t be taking up any more of your time.
Looking forward to your decision,
Yours until the end of time,
The Doctor