The end is near. It is approaching my reality with astonishing speed. Sixteen days are all that remain. Just the thought of my great escape lulls my anxious conscience into a state of submission. I will be precise and exact in my relinquishment of both pain and pleasure. Will you remember me?
And if you do, by pure chance of a miracle, remember, then will your memory of me be distorted and convoluted by misunderstanding?
Will I haunt your dreams? The face you never knew is intruding on your subconscious... Always lying just beneath the surface to remind you?
Or will I fade into the same deceiving darkness that gradually engulfed my existence? The times you wished for more slipped away from reach. They dwindled more rapidly than they initially came on. A face with a name is not necessarily a face with importance.
I can't help but wonder what my choice ultimately holds in stock for me. The only aspects I seem to care about are relief and silence. And oh, my love, I am aware that you will be unavailable to mourn me and the figment of imagination that I eventually came to be in your mind. In all fairness, however, I will not be available to justify my gruesome actions. This is simply the way it must be. Sleep tight, love.
