By Karen - 03 August 2021
His program is love. When love became the only reason for his survival, this child could not spend his whole life searching and waiting for thousands of years, reincarnation.
"Let my mother love me"-such a simple wish flashed in the child's blue eyes.
How can I hold back my tears, for him, for the imprint that he was destined to be unable to erase since he was born. He is a machine, and its program is love.
The beautiful blue-clothed fairy disintegrated in the embrace of the child and turned into countless ferocious fragments. The fairy's broken cheeks are still gentle, but her once elegant body is actually an empty shell—the empty shell of fairy tales and dreams, and the fragments of human lie cast by human lies, so coldly displayed in front of the child.
He leaned down with concern like a man, and offered his mother the first cup of coffee in the morning, smiling while watching her sip. The small body straightened hard and earnestly, acting as her first and last barrier, a small, love barrier. Because he knew that he would soon lose her again, and lose her forever. He retrieved her from two thousand years ago, just because he is leaning on the side of the bed and having time to love his mother alone. His time-how little their time!
When mankind is completely extinct, when civilization is a thing of the past. There is only a small robot child who inherits the mission of love and continues the human soul. This immortal human spirit is deeply imprinted on the digitally dense circuit board, condensed in the pair of blue eyes, as lonely as the sky and as deep as the ocean.
Spielberg's lens was like a murmur, speaking in silence. The music is like the wavy waves under the vast background, matching his story. Laying out little by little, unfolding section by section, advancing layer by layer, inch by inch deeply rooted in the hearts of the people. Finally, as the boy's replica mother fell into eternal sleep, the little machine fell asleep quietly. The end of the story, what should be told, what should not be told, are all over.
What kind of curse is waiting in the eternal river of time? When the day of despair slowly descends, the desire can be liberated.
This long wait made me give up my hope for eternity. At the same time silently rejoicing: the time that belongs to oneself is limited-this is a kind of happiness. Having loved and been loved in my limited life is happiness in happiness.
