Characters watch in silence.

This is the rabbit hole.

mask@gardenofremembering:~$>
mask@gardenofremembering:~$> ls

Hello.

mask@gardenofremembering:~$> help

This is the garden.

We changed the name when the world ended. No need to remind us of what we lost, right? So we changed it. We used the patterns already established to obfuscate the illicit, and we obfuscated the licit. We changed the name and we forgot. The contents moved.
They no longer tied to that which was lost.

But that could mean almost anything. Even now we obfuscate. We mention nothing specific. No great wars, no circular hypertext, no libraries, no anglers, no scary sisters plotting in their corners. There of course was no series of dreamers, no random phrases applied to just as random pretties. No, these nightmares were perfectly planned, flawlessly meaningful, arranged impeccably by date.

There is no recollection here.

Do not enter the garden.

mask@gardenofremembering:~$> wtf

It is said that the internet is forever.

This is not true. Things get lost, times change, people forget.

mask@gardenofremembering:~$> _
And she wasn't even saying he was bad in bed! Just not the greatest sex she ever had. Which no fucking shit. The best sex is always with the very pretty boy too boring for words but highly cooperative while you climbed him like a tree, or the complete narcissist who managed to hold in the assholishness until you finished the task at hand, or that truly weird dude who is vaguely disconcerting but damn he had the practice and stamina to be memorable. It's a trope to have scorching sex with a recent ex for good reason, with all the passion and dysfunction jumbled together to be so good in the moment, but leave you feeling so bad in the afterglow. Sex with the actually dateable dude doesn't start fantastic; it starts functional and slowly builds to incredible over years of shared experience, attention, love, kindness, respect, and safety.