Generate an image of a man, clean-shaven, with tan skin and black hair, wire-frame glasses, dressed for a rock concert, ears sticking out slightly, calm and intelligent face, with an arm around his girlfriend, petite, with freckles and curly red hair, thick, frizzy bangs, wearing a cropped Black Keys t-shirt, denim shorts, and cowboy boots. She is laughing at a joke the man just told, her face still turned slightly towards him. The sun is setting behind the stage, casting a hazy yellow glow on the faceless crowd. The image is slightly blurry, as if taken on a cheap digital camera by someone dodging the crowd.

Try again. There is a nostalgic quality to the image. Imagine it was rendered from an incomplete memory.

Generate an image of the same man and woman on a road trip, singing along to a song they both love. The man is driving, one hand on the wheel. The woman looks at him as if he’s solved every one of her problems.

Try again. The woman is relaxed, in love, unafraid. They are driving to her favorite place.

Generate an image of the same man and woman in a Japanese garden. They are standing on a red bridge, the man just behind the woman with his arms gently wrapped around her waist. They are admiring a coy fish, the bright orange flash of it in the shallow green water. Out-of-focus cherry blossoms and cherry red maples frame the shot, add some depth to it. They have no idea anyone is watching them. All they know is each other and the fish.

Try again. The water is sparkling slightly from tiny wakes made by the fish.

Generate a photo of the man on one knee, facing the woman, holding a ring in his left hand, in a rustic wooden gazebo with lush green branches surrounding them and a blue lake in the distant background. She is wearing a lacy white dress. He is wearing a white button-down and tan trousers. She is covering half of her face shyly in disbelief. The man, too, is in profile. You can only see the side of his face, too, but it is clear he is beaming, almost buzzing with joy that can’t be contained.

Try again. She is covering her face, but the act of covering it, the placement of her hand, expresses something. There is happiness, yes, but there is also bewilderment. There is a sense of something being hidden, covered. For she had dreamed of this moment, but the dream had been killed.

Try again. It is not shock, not surprise. It is something else entirely.

Try again. It is not an exaggerated, cartoonish expression. It is a true one.

Try again. There is a glimmer of something else, something murkier. There is a thin flicker of something inside her, in the depths she can’t name, that understands that this is not possible. That this man smiling up at her is now made of something other than carbon. The diamond, too, as lovely as it is.

Try again. Her hand is smaller than her head, has only five fingers.

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Image: “How Can We Assist” by Alex J. Tunney