conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about Amazon, Book, em>You with the genre: Self-Help, Death & Grief?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'You Will Not Have My Hate'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the first four paragraphs for this book?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: You Will Not Have My Hate
  I only half-listen to her. Hélène is there, just next door. I can sense her. I would like to see her, alone.
  Hélène's mother and sister understand. They know that, even here, it is the two of us, first of all. Together for this final moment, just her and me. Not someone's daughter, or sister, or best friend, not the woman who was killed at the Bataclan. I want her to be mine, and mine alone. As she was before.
  We were like two little Lego bricks that fitted together perfectly. Made for each other. Our "once upon a time" began one June 21, with music, at a concert. As always happens at the start of the great stories, I thought she wouldn't want someone like me. I thought she was too beautiful, too Parisian, too sophisticated, too everything, for a nobody like me. I took her hand. We were swallowed up by the crowd and the noise. Until the last moment, I thought she would escape me. Then we kissed.
  Afterward, it all happened very fast. I told her we would go to New York, that the time belonged to us, that my lucky star would guide us. She told me she loved me.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is five more paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: People want to meet me, talk to me, touch me. I am a totem. Assessed, measured, quantified, as if there were a Richter scale of sadness and they felt sure that, with me, they were facing the Big One. One of those massive earthquakes that happen only one to five times a century. Magnitude 9. Description: "Devastating." Effects: "Mass destruction of areas over a radius of more than six hundred miles around the epicenter."
  So I tried to give a reply as conventional as "Fine, and you?" A reply that has the double advantage of ending, before it has even begun, the diagnosis of my emotional state, and giving back the initiative in the conversation to the person who started it. I ended up with the default option of "As well as can be expected," which allowed me to descend one step on the scale. Magnitude 8. Description: "Major." Effects: "Considerable damage of all buildings, up to dozens of miles from the epicenter." But that is not enough.
  So I give a reassuring smile. The same for everyone. Lips closed, one corner of my mouth lifting only slightly, the other a little bit more, my eyes creased. The effect is immediate. Magnitude 7. Description: "Very strong." Effects: "May cause severe damage over a vast area; near the epicenter, only adapted buildings will survive."
  My "As well as can be expected" is one of those buildings. It is that little hut that is photographed after the catastrophe, the one that is left miraculously standing while everything around it is in ruins. It may not be much to look at, but it's still there.
  I keep up appearances. I take the other person by the hand, and reassure him by showing this cardboard city that acts as the set for the movie of my life that I let people see. The streets are clean, the inhabitants peaceful, life seems to go on as normally as possible. But the buildings are only facades, the inhabitants merely extras, and behind this apparent normality, there is nothing, nothing at all. Except, perhaps, this anxiety. What will happen when everyone has moved on to another movie? Will I be alone here in my abandoned set?
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the last three paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Left after the central square, that's where her tomb is. We approach it. We are there. My whole life lies below my feet. Held in a few square feet of stone, cold, and mud. It's a small thing, a life. I put the photograph in the middle of the white flowers that spangle the gravestone. Like a swarm of stars hung in the night sky. A moonless night. Locked in her vault, she will never reappear.
  Suddenly Melvil lets go of my hand. He climbs on the gravestone, crushing the roses and the lilies that are no match for his determination. I am afraid he is looking for her. He keeps going through the jungle of regrets. Takes it with him. Then comes back to me, and holds my hand. I know he has found her.
  He wants to leave. Right away. No hanging around. He wants to take Mama back home with us. I don't resist. He wants arms around him. I hold him tight against me. She is with us. There are three of us. There will always be three of us.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Add another sentence about Grabs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Left after the central square, that's where her tomb is. We approach it. We are there. My whole life lies below my feet. Held in a few square feet of stone, cold, and mud. It's a small thing, a life. I put the photograph in the middle of the white flowers that spangle the gravestone. Like a swarm of stars hung in the night sky. A moonless night. Locked in her vault, she will never reappear. 
  Suddenly Melvil lets go of my hand. He climbs on the gravestone, crushing the roses and the lilies that are no match for his determination. I am afraid he is looking for her. He keeps going through the jungle of regrets. Grabs the photo. Takes it with him. Then comes back to me, and holds my hand. I know he has found her. 
  He wants to leave. Right away. No hanging around. He wants to take Mama back home with us. I don't resist. He wants arms around him. I hold him tight against me. She is with us. There are three of us. There will always be three of us.