I stared at it. The rose. Seriously? Staring at a rose, twirling it, whimsically thinking. Who does that?

Me apparently. But in this case, the rose means much more than just, romance, or love, or whatever.

It, well, it reminds me of back then. Back before everything happened. Back before I became, like this.

One faded rose, that’s all it took. That’s all it took for the memories to come rushing in. And now that they’re here, they won’t stop. They’re less like a flowing river, more like a flash flood.

And well, what can I do about it? Make them go away? Right.

Follow them? That’s more likely. Things are about to change, I can tell. And who knows what’s coming next.

But, maybe you, dear reader, would like to know how I became how I am now first. Maybe you don’t even know how I am now. That’s the difference between us. You’ll soon know all kinds of things about me, but I’ll never know you. Well enjoy it, hell knows you’ll surely enjoy it more than I did.