“I chose the fifth because it was my least favorite number. I didn’t see the point in ruining a perfectly good numbered day.”

It was 7:48pm on November 4, 2018 when I wrote those words. It was a revision of something I’d written the week before; lines I hadn’t been satisfied with. I saved them anyway. I’d like to believe there’s always room for improvement.

But why’d I write it? I don’t know. Did I really plan to end my life on the fifth of January? Or was it a piece of fiction? Again, I don’t know. Words and stories and thoughts flow through me like a river without a dam…