conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first four paragraphs for a story with the title 'Goodbye for Now'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Goodbye for Now
  They were whirling and dizzy—with possibilities and pounding surf and wind in their hair and sand between their toes. Someone had made a mix of middle school slow songs, and soon everyone was re-creating their eighth-grade dance, holding one another mock-stiffly and making awkward teenage conversation and giving silent thanks for being adults at last. Dash went off to make out with LL, and Sam held Meredith closer than the thirteen-year-old Sam would have ever dared. Her skin smelled like the sea, and the sea smelled like the sea, and they barely moved their feet, just held on, pressed top-to-toe together. Sam could feel his heart racing against her already though there was nothing yet to fear, and so he passed it off as joy, as heart-pounding, pulse-quaking joy. Not as premonition. Not as the moment to grab her hand and turn and run.
  Everyone looked at each other blankly, including Not-Sam. "Is that what you're asking me?" He looked confused, puzzled, and mildly concerned, aware something was off, not sure what it was.
  Dash disconnected to roll eyes at Sam. "So when I act weird, it doesn't work. And when I act normal, it doesn't work either."
  Sam was caught up. He had realized something else as he watched Not-Sam struggle to come up with Tom Holly. There was no reason to limit Not-Sam to his own electronic memory. Not-Sam had the whole world available to him because, of course, Not-Sam had an internet connection.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Nadia Banks was getting back into the dating scene after a long absence nursing her mom but found she couldn't do so without her mother's approval. Sam integrated his code with her dating site's interface so she could share the online profiles with her mom who could then send a thumbs-up or -down vote. "That's pretty incredible," Nadia told Sam. "She likes the uptight lawyers and too-old accountants just like in real life. How'd you know?"
  Emmy Vargas came in with a sixteen-month-old, Oliver, strapped to her chest. She RePosed with her twin sister Eleanor who'd had chemo every week with Mrs. Elliot. Eleanor had lived just long enough to see Oliver crawl which Emmy considered a blessing. Eleanor found out about her cancer the same day Emmy found out she was pregnant. That day, Emmy was distraught her baby might never meet her sister. She was distraught her sister might never meet her baby. Later, she was distraught at having to spend so much time growing said baby in a germ-infested, sick-people-filled hospital with its bad energy and worse light. She was distraught at how weak Eleanor got so quickly. And if she was entirely honest with herself, which was rare, she was distraught that she didn't get a baby shower, didn't get to drag Eleanor, as she'd been dragged herself, to a dozen baby stores to set up a dozen fancy registries, didn't get to spend long, leisurely afternoons on Eleanor's couch demanding foot rubs and banana smoothies. These things were owed to her since she'd done them through both of Eleanor's pregnancies, and she was distraught at all she was missing out on. She was distraught at all Eleanor was missing out on too of course, but that didn't mean she wasn't also missing out on things herself.
  Josh Annapist knew Emmy and David from a Wednesday afternoon support group at St. Giles. He'd been himself, and he'd been with Noel Taylor. He and Noel had been in and out of treatment, often together, often apart as well, for years. They'd met there. Both got better, but only Josh stayed better. They had a lot in common—a shared love of scuba diving in Puget Sound despite frigid temps and murky waters, a commitment to the curative potential of yoga, and large and loving circles of friends and family who just could never understand—really understand—what they were going through. That plus leukemia in their mid-twenties. Without Noel, Josh still had the friends and family, but he was also all alone.
  Meredith looked like she might cry. She looked like she might laugh. She settled on both at once. Then she dipped a brush in green and started in on his eyebrows.
  Meredith looked at Sam from somewhere between incredulous bemusement and profound horror. "Is she torturing me? Why does she think she's coming home all of a sudden?"
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Add another sentence about Oliver, missing, everything, need, strapped, learned.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Nadia Banks was getting back into the dating scene after a long absence nursing her mom but found she couldn't do so without her mother's approval. Sam integrated his code with her dating site's interface so she could share the online profiles with her mom who could then send a thumbs-up or -down vote. "That's pretty incredible," Nadia told Sam. "She likes the uptight lawyers and too-old accountants just like in real life. How'd you know?"
  Emmy Vargas came in with a sixteen-month-old, Oliver, strapped to her chest. She RePosed with her twin sister Eleanor who'd had chemo every week with Mrs. Elliot. Eleanor had lived just long enough to see Oliver crawl which Emmy considered a blessing. Eleanor found out about her cancer the same day Emmy found out she was pregnant. That day, Emmy was distraught her baby might never meet her sister. She was distraught her sister might never meet her baby. Later, she was distraught at having to spend so much time growing said baby in a germ-infested, sick-people-filled hospital with its bad energy and worse light. She was distraught at how weak Eleanor got so quickly. And if she was entirely honest with herself, which was rare, she was distraught that she didn't get a baby shower, didn't get to drag Eleanor, as she'd been dragged herself, to a dozen baby stores to set up a dozen fancy registries, didn't get to spend long, leisurely afternoons on Eleanor's couch demanding foot rubs and banana smoothies. These things were owed to her since she'd done them through both of Eleanor's pregnancies, and she was distraught at all she was missing out on. She was distraught at all Eleanor was missing out on too of course, but that didn't mean she wasn't also missing out on things herself. Now she was distraught with missing her sister which was why she came in, never mind that it was a thousand times easier to stay home than to pack up everything Oliver might need should they stray more than fifteen feet from the house, and never mind that she had to carry an increasingly gigantic Oliver strapped to her person at all times because even at sixteen months he had not yet learned to walk. 
  Josh Annapist knew Emmy and David from a Wednesday afternoon support group at St. Giles. He'd been himself, and he'd been with Noel Taylor. He and Noel had been in and out of treatment, often together, often apart as well, for years. They'd met there. Both got better, but only Josh stayed better. They had a lot in common—a shared love of scuba diving in Puget Sound despite frigid temps and murky waters, a commitment to the curative potential of yoga, and large and loving circles of friends and family who just could never understand—really understand—what they were going through. That plus leukemia in their mid-twenties. Without Noel, Josh still had the friends and family, but he was also all alone. 
  Meredith looked like she might cry. She looked like she might laugh. She settled on both at once. Then she dipped a brush in green and started in on his eyebrows. 
  Meredith looked at Sam from somewhere between incredulous bemusement and profound horror. "Is she torturing me? Why does she think she's coming home all of a sudden?"
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last three paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Will we meet then? Will we meet somewhere as ourselves? Will I be young and you old? Will we meet in some matchmaking website cafeteria of the beyond? Will we dance like bees in an eternal garden supping together on flowers and honey? Will we float on the wind for millennia until one molecule of me finds one molecule of you? Will the energy generated by that reunion spark a second big bang, a restarting of time and the cosmos? I don't know. I don't know where I am. I don't know where we go. But I do know this:
  What do the sixty years we were denied together in our bodies or the neurons of me you replace as life goes on matter in the face of forever? So live, Sam. Go outside. Meet people. Comfort the bereaved and the sick and the dying and the lost. And let them comfort you too. Love more. Make new memories. Forget pieces of me and of us. Let go. It's okay. I hold us in my perfect memory. I'll be right here, waiting for you.
  Thank you too to early readers (and fixers and cheerleaders): Paul Mariz, Sue Frankel, Dave Frankel, Erin Trendler, Lisa Corr, Molly Schulman, Paul Cirone, Becky Ferreira, Alicia Goodwin, Jennie Shortridge, and special thanks to Sam Chambers. Thank you to Sam Warren and Arnab Deka for expert advice. Thank you to Mark Cooper for showing me how to make cheese. Thank you for additional support and love to Dana Borowitz, the Seattle7Writers, my wonderful, leap-of-faith-taking foreign editors and translators, and the whole team of miracle workers I am only just beginning to have the pleasure of working with at Doubleday.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Swap the first and the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Thank you for additional support and love to Dana Borowitz, the Seattle7Writers, my wonderful, leap-of-faith-taking foreign editors and translators, and the whole team of miracle workers I am only just beginning to have the pleasure of working with at Doubleday. I don't know where I am. I don't know where we go. But I do know this:
  What do the sixty years we were denied together in our bodies or the neurons of me you replace as life goes on matter in the face of forever? So live, Sam. Go outside. Meet people. Comfort the bereaved and the sick and the dying and the lost. And let them comfort you too. Love more. Make new memories. Forget pieces of me and of us. Let go. It's okay. I hold us in my perfect memory. I'll be right here, waiting for you.
  Thank you too to early readers (and fixers and cheerleaders): Paul Mariz, Sue Frankel, Dave Frankel, Erin Trendler, Lisa Corr, Molly Schulman, Paul Cirone, Becky Ferreira, Alicia Goodwin, Jennie Shortridge, and special thanks to Sam Chambers. Thank you to Sam Warren and Arnab Deka for expert advice. Thank you to Mark Cooper for showing me how to make cheese.Will we meet then? Will we meet somewhere as ourselves? Will I be young and you old? Will we meet in some matchmaking website cafeteria of the beyond? Will we dance like bees in an eternal garden supping together on flowers and honey? Will we float on the wind for millennia until one molecule of me finds one molecule of you? Will the energy generated by that reunion spark a second big bang, a restarting of time and the cosmos? I don't know.