Unreal.

SEN & GAR

A PROLOGUE

Cold is the best kind of embrace, I have grown to love it, however in all honesty it has always been a part of me. This place is known to manifest your darkest but also the most true version of yourself. So it never came as a shock to me, but rather brought me joy, painful joy, to be completely and utterly surrounded by what you truly are. I know to most people that is a scary aspect because most are afraid to face who or what they really are.

This place that I am in has no time, it does not know the meaning. a rather bittersweet thing not so, to never wrinkle eating a ghostly vibrancy. Sad though, to never see your older self in any reflection. A different me would blush at the thought of the graceful glow that comes with age even at the time the glow dims until the light no longer holds life. From a vibrant white to a wisdom filled gray. A wonderful thought indeed.

The place I am in can be whatever you want it to be. But mostly it morphs into the place you can not let go of... my house. The house I was raised in, an heirloom, a piece of vanity my family held close to their hearts. Why? I wouldn't know, I never bothered asking. You know that saying? The one that goes, "things of the world, remain with the world," is that how it goes? I am sure its along those lines. My point is, it is not entirely as accurate as they led us to believe. Some things of the world can follow the next ascent in human existence. Especially when you hold on a little too tight.

That's what I did, I held on too tight. And now this house haunts me just as much as I haunt it, if not more. It followed me here to this place, we are one.

My name.... I should have probably led with it. It's just that it seems so alien to me now, like it no longer belongs to me nor does it hold any significance. you see the place I am in. Nothing really cares about your name or who you are or where you come from. it is like an unspoken rule, you are nothing, stay nothing , stay safe. The one worldly thing that remains. No mind, I have no use for an identity, holding onto one means having to bear the pain of not fulfilling every aspect of it. The pain of losing it all over again.

This is not my story, mine can never be told. This is the story of the artist who dooms himself by falling in love with an unlovable spectrum. His fate may follow the same demise of his love. So I will tell his story to the very end and his name is Garth. A blooming garden but I see him as an enchanted one, it feels unfit to label him ordinary. He is the garden below Eden.

Ladies and gentlemen to all of you I go by The Narrator, only. My name is unnecessary. Who I am does not matter only the story I tell. Let that be clear. Now shall we begin......