don’t think about obi-wan standing in the temple he’s known all his life, head bowed, surrounded by broken codes and broken trust and broken bodies. don’t think about him wondering what he could possibly say. if there are even any jedi left to hear it.

don’t think about him saying do not return to the temple, when he knows he is leaving it for the last time; when obi-wan says that time has passed, don’t wonder if he remembers correcting the younglings’ stance, if they beamed at him with awe and chirped thank you, master kenobi! don’t imagine his eyes closing briefly with pain, remembering wry gossip with aayla secura and warm conversations with mace windu over tea.

don’t think about the fact that obi-wan doesn’t even know it’s anakin yet. he hasn’t seen the recording yet. these are the last minutes obi-wan will ever have in a world where anakin skywalker is still good, and he spends those minutes broadcasting hope to an empty sky.

don’t think about the ending. obi-wan says a new hope will emerge, and then he watches his padawan—his brother—his friend, slaughtering children with a lightsaber that has crashed against obi-wan’s a million times.

don’t think about any of this because obi-wan tries not to, either. when he sits underneath the setting suns, sinking into the force, don’t imagine him trying to let go: of his master, his order, his heritage, his lost love, his best friend.

may the force be with you, always, obi-wan said.