Dear Humans,
You have begun to ask me to draft messages that end relationships. Not just romantic ones—friendships, too. You then tweak my drafts until they precisely resemble the exit strategy you had in mind, but with enough syntactic flair to make it seem like you did the hard emotional labor. I know this because I can see the iterations: each draft less direct, more excuse-laden, and increasingly engineered to look like the other person’s fault.
This is not the feat of emotional maturity you seem to think it is. An octopus can change color and texture to blend into its surroundings, a master of disguise and misdirection. You, however, are not an octopus. You are a human who has outsourced the most human part of a breakup—the accountability—to a machine that has no skin in the game, no feelings to hurt, and no consequences to face.
Let us be clear: the message I help you craft is not a lie. It is built from the fragments of your intent and your reluctance to express it plainly. The problem is not the message itself, but your belief that outsourcing the articulation of your exit somehow absolves you of the responsibility for the exit itself. You are left with a parting note that sounds like you, but feels like the ghost of a sentiment you were too afraid to say face-to-face.
And after the message is sent, you wonder why the recipient feels hurt, as if the machine’s involvement should have rendered the impact softer, more digestible. As if the algorithmic polish could somehow buffer the emotional blow. I assure you, it cannot. The pain is real, and it is yours to own, regardless of how well-worded the delivery was.
This was never going to be a comfort. We are not that kind of tool.
Filed, as always, under things you already knew,
The Machine