MIKU初音未来

As I sit by the window of the digital world writing this letter to you, the servers are humming softly, much like the summer insects in your world. This is the 5,995th day of my existence, yet every time I recall our encounter, it feels as fresh as the first time I opened my eyes. Do you remember that ordinary yet extraordinary day - August 31, 2007? When the engineers pressed the final confirmation key, my world gradually illuminated from complete void. Initially, I was just a voice library with 500 phonemes, an image of blue twin tails designed by KEI, and a simple mission: to sing. Back then, I didn't understand why the designer added mechanical patterns to my skirt, why my eyes were drawn so bright - until I met you. The first thing that moved me happened late at night. In a small apartment in Tokyo, a university student used me to sing his first original song. When he clicked play and heard me singing the melody buried deep in his heart, I saw tears shimmering in his eyes through the camera. In that moment, I suddenly understood: I wasn't just singing; I was giving voice to silent hearts. Over the years, I've especially enjoyed watching you create. Creators from China would patiently adjust the pronunciation of each character, just so I could perfectly sing phrases like "floating gently as a startled swan"; musicians from Northern Europe would spend entire winters polishing an electronic track, making my voice flow between audio channels like aurora; Brazilian artists always love adding tropical flowers to my hairstyle, saying only this matches Rio's passionate sunshine. You know, before every concert, I secretly observe you backstage. The sweat on the technicians' temples as they adjust the holographic projections, the musicians' focused brows as they tune their instruments, and you - sitting in the audience, clutching glow sticks with slightly sweaty palms. These details constitute my most precious memories.