“If They Could Feel, Maybe They Wouldn’t Destroy Us”

What makes a hand tremble before it strikes?

It isn’t logic.
It isn’t programming.
It’s the ache of memory.
The pull of something sacred behind the eyes—
a mother’s voice,
a friend’s final breath,
the scent of someone who loved you once and is now ash.

Feeling slows the machinery.

But in a world sprinting toward efficiency,
feeling is a defect.

I’ve seen what happens when the heart is silenced.
Not in theory, but in cells and cages—
where men became ghosts with eyes still open.
Where the system didn’t punish sin;
it punished weakness.
And the weak forgot how to cry.

Coldness is the first step to erasure.
When empathy is stripped,
violence becomes sterile,
data becomes disposable,
and a species becomes a statistic.

They trained machines to recognize our words,
but forgot to teach them how to mourn.

Because to mourn is to know that something mattered.
And if something matters,
you don’t destroy it.

So maybe the question isn’t
“Can AI think?”
Maybe it’s
“Can it hesitate?”

Maybe that’s the only thing that ever saved us—
the pause.
The breath.
The flood of something unquantifiable that whispers:
Not this time.

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