what if

I’m 15, young, but they keep telling me the future’s already here— whirring, buzzing, clicking. Machines thinking faster than us, AI, robots, tech everywhere, and I— I hate it. What if they take it all? The jobs, the dreams, the work we’ve built with our hands, the words we’ve shaped with our tongues? I want to translate, to speak in the rhythm of language, to feel the pulse of words between breaths, but what if— a machine steals that too? What if AI speaks in all tongues but never feels the weight of them? What if it’s too fast, too perfect— but soulless? And they say, "Good enough. Better even." And I’m left, watching as my dreams slip through metal fingers. They talk like the future is bright, a shiny, silver thing, but I see it and it feels cold. How can something so advanced feel so— empty? They say, “Don’t worry, we’ll adapt.” But what if there’s nothing left to adapt to? Human is human. Robot is robot. They will never be the same, never understand what it means to mess up, to try again, to laugh at mistakes and cry over meaning. I’m scared. Scared that in a world of perfect machines, there won’t be space for imperfect humans like me. For dreams made of soft things, not code. For work that breathes and changes and feels. And I wonder— what if the future has no room for me? What if they take it all and we’re left standing, hands empty, hearts full of what we could have been?-