A prayer for forgiveness
It's not necromancy. It's just your voice. My headphones whisper in a staccato accent distilled by the program from every file I could find of you.
I hear your old messages and they hurt like a wound.
You say what I type and it hurts like a knife.
"I forgive you," you lie; I know how your voice sounds when you do. That makes me feel better. I still delete everything, program, files, and trained model. I haven't let go of your absence yet, but neither have the cops.