June 23th, 2002 - 1:27 a.m.

A sort of calm settles like sediment.

Am ready to die. Have been for some time now. The demise would be poetic, and rife with meaning and symbolism.

At this point in time. Given less then a century, all that was suffered and enjoyed will have been forgotten. All pain. All joy. All reaction to circumstance and situation. Like a particle of dust caught in a sunbeam for a brief period of time, showing its existance for all who care to see.

All the dreams in technicolour. All emotion in black and white.

Fear of not being remembered; for am memorable. Fear of being small and insignificant; because am not. Look up at the grandeur of the evening sky, smoke curling up in delicate ribbons, and I know for certain that none of this matters at all.

Am ready to go. Let me go.

N.

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