It occurs to me that there will likely be a point in my existence where I will not want to keep living. I’ve lost the fear of missing out. Soon maybe, no desire to chase any thrills. Will I want to fade slowly into the background and be forgotten? Someday we will all slip from the collecive conscious so as to be never thought of again.

At that point I will already be dead. Dying merely sets things right.

To take my own life may spawn a new thought in someone else. An examination of the death itself, the intention and the execution. It’s too much for living minds. There has to be a story. Satisfactory explaination.

A simple solution, I should make it look like an accident. Merely a lapse of judgement that met my demise. That seems easier for the passerby.