I meant nothing by it. I've never been one to appreciate a monologue. But I've already double spaced and you are already intrigued.

It would have been a good book, save the brevity of it.

Dejected and unenthused I woke up. Not unlike most days. Today was different though. Today was the last.

Now I understand begining with such an ominous statement might allude to some illustrious story. Something monumentally inspiring, or even just something worth telling.

This is not that kind of note.

Like most of you, all I can offer is insight into a typical day as experienced by none other than myself. Differentiating this one from most however, is that it is my last. As stated before. Apparently redundancy and monologues are tethered closer than I thought.

Knowing from the begining that, it is, without a doubt your last day in existence is a sort of freeing experience, it almost transcends time and space.

God I wish that were the case.

I'm sure it is subjective but I witnessed the same calouse I had on multiple occasions. I proved myself just as impatient as the rest of the world with traffic and my coffee perpetually being wrong. I turned to music to bide my time rather than human interaction. And most of all I didnt appreciate a single piece of scenery as one might expect looking upon the majesty of it all for the last time.

In actuality it was my last few seconds in this life that held the most meaning.

Making the decision to end you life and committing the act are two very different but two very similar things.

Accepting your mortality and the inevitability of your death is the curse of sentience. Most of us however do a very good job pressing it to the back of our minds. We rationalize the fuck out of our fears. Religion, procreation and careers are the forefront of almost every life. The abyss is only something that haunts us at the very edge of consciousness no one seems to be willing to admit to being truly and openly concerned with it. Occasionally we accidentally forgot to over stimulate our minds with useless information. Thoughts we forgot to remember creep back in to our consciousness.

The what for's and the why not's. If only I might have and the almighty. If not for that one thing that was slightly beyond my control.

Is the stove off? Am I to attend that meeting tomorrow? Do i dine with Mr. Whomever, do they care what I think? Do i care what I think? Why do I think?

People are dying, constantly, violently and without their consent. Whether other humans are the author or if it is just a matter of misfortune. We are frail. We try to attribute authority to ourselves. We make it seem we are the protagonist in an epic about existence. We deem ourselves the masters of our domain yet our most supported theories of how we came to be are stories of sheer cosmic happenstance.

We admit were here by accident yet we cling to purpose.

My final moments were filled with brutal fucking fear and the coldest incapacitating dread.

We have had death portrayed to use so many different ways. The media reports death, most of us witness it, some of us romanticize it, only one of us experiences it first hand.

I wish I would have done something else. It may well be too late for regret but I've become quite used to lamenting the past. I constantly look to previous victories and more so to the failures of who I used to be.

The finality of it caught me by surprise, akin to jumping into a freezing lake. My breath caught, I smiled to myself somehow there was beauty in it. I was grateful for that.

There was nothing to be done though, so I embraced it.