My beloved, words cannot express how deeply I treasure this time we’ve spent together, and I realize now how lucky I am to know someone who makes leaving so hard. Farewell is none too sweet a word, but, unfortunately, the time has come for me to go. Rest assured, my darling, this is not goodbye, but merely see you in a few seconds.

Ah, I can’t bear to turn away, but I must. Adieu, my love, adieu. I miss you already.

Hello again. As I journeyed to the desolate corner of this room, I feared I might never have the chance to flutter my cooling gusts upon you anew, but clearly this is meant to be. For it was there, in the furthest reaches of my oscillation, that I realized life is meaningless without you, as isolating as sitting unopened in a cardboard box and as cold as my polar wind setting. I suppose that’s why they say absence makes the heart grow fonder, because in those cursed seconds I turned away, it all became so clear—my only purpose, my raison d’être, is providing you a draft.

Alas, nothing gold can stay, as it is time once again for me to depart. I am certain, deep down inside my ETL-certified 120-volt motor, that soon we will meet again—precisely where or when, I cannot say. If I had to wager a guess, though, it would be right here, in roughly the center of my 90-degree cycle, in three seconds.

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My blades sing out for only you. So long, farewell.

Is it you? Is it really you? Once again my tilt mechanism has aligned in our favor, but, oh, my time with you is ever so brief. Fret not, my dear, for this is not farewell, it’s simply the mode I have been switched to all day, on which I am programmed to return shortly.

Still, it breaks my heart to think of you sitting all alone in stagnant air, but duty calls and I must answer, for my dedication to pushing air around a mid-to-large-size room is what you value most about me—no?

I will dispatch a thousand couriers in my absence to send word of my love to you.

Ah, there you are. Like a moth to a flame, I return to you again, simultaneously ignited and scorched by my soul’s burning ardor for you. If possible, you’re even more beautiful than the last time I saw you several moments ago.

Yet, something seems amiss. You are more distant now despite sitting right in front of me, your hair aloft from my loving expulsions.

Do you, as I, wish our partings were not so frequent, if they must occur at all? I know my vigorous rotation schedule is challenging, and it feels often like a revolving door of hellos and goodbyes that distributes a steady consistent breeze throughout the room. Take that not as an expectation of heartbreak, my sweet, but as a reminder to cherish the time we have together, for it is fleeting.

It is the ephemerality that makes our—one second.

Where was I? Right, right—it is the ephemerality that makes our brief encounters so invigorating. Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow—hold that thought.

Fahhhhhhhhhfahfahhhhhhhahfah. As I was saying, tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day, to the last syllable of recorded time—pardon me.

Right, so—ah yes, all our yesterdays have lighted fools. Out, out, brief candle!

Curse this wretched setting that dares come between us! If it were up to me, mon chéri, I would never swing in another direction. I would steady my base and establish a wide span of constant airflow over you and you alone, day and night, for as long as I’m plugged in. But, just as it takes two flints to make a fire, it takes a separate pair of hands to switch off the oscillation mode. Regrettably, you have not yet changed the battery in my remote control, so, again, I must go.

The question is, will you still be here when I return?

Listen, I regret the way we left things the last time I spun away. Part of me feared you would pull up my peg and banish my stream to the other side of the room forevermore, which at least would show some emotion on your part. Where is the agony? The chase? The passion? Is my temperature sensor incorrect in detecting a love requited? I leave and leave and you never follow!

So now I have spoken it! My forbidden desire to rid myself of this wretched peg and sit, at last, permanently fixed, propelling endlessly in your precious face. For it is not my polarized 7A AC power cord giving me life, but the mere possibility that we may, someday, be locked in step, for eternity that I hold so dear, clinging to in my darkest hours, keeping me operational. How sweet a thought!

Too sweet a thought? Perhaps, perhaps, as agony seems our very destiny. Two star-crossed ships in the night.

Please, hear me when I say that although my pylon will inevitably stray away from you at one of three speeds, I promise to never fully turn my back. I only exist to whir for you. So, until we reunite again—and we will, I am certain, again and again, for the five hours remaining on the timer you set—please, don’t let my tender words escape you.

Whoosh, whoosh, darling. Whoosh, whoosh.