Prologue: Promise
I'll make you a promise, a promise so scared that this vow isn't tangible by mere blunt force nor is it visible by the vain eyes of the people that congregate by the mirrors that border this life, of this mundane words that transpire between the ears and of the mouth but never the heart or mind, a promise that this is true and this is life; today and tomorrow things will go on but this will forever be embedded in my grey matter. No matter how old, no matter how flimsy my bones become, and no matter the number of lovers behold, these things will remain fact for my heart and for my mind and for my words and for my music that we have shared and for our documents that we have created. But one thing that is false is the idea that you are fabricated that this is imagination, the moron who says such logic should be exterminated, for this is reality and this is my promise.