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It's easy to get lost in your thoughts here. The suns' burning light stretches over an infinity of sand. When you have nothing to do, it's not a figure of speech: there's really nothing. Nothing to do. Nothing to see. Nothing to hear. And so you get lost in your thoughts.
You wonder if the sentient mind is made to suffer. You have travelled so far, met so many people and yet, you don't think you've met anyone who wasn't in pain. Jar-Jar didn't look like he felt any kind of hurt, but he probably did, and if he doesn't right now, it's because he's dead. Even Darth Sidious must have felt a tremendous amount of pain. One has to be, to lose themselves this deeply into the dark side. Maybe you're too nice - Anakin used to tell you so at least, but he's gone now and there's no one to laugh at your softness, no one to promote aggressive negotiations when things turn sour.
Nowadays, you don't negotiate anything anymore, except the price of the water sometimes. Without mind tricks, because even if you weren't hiding from the Force, you would deem it useless. Everything is bad enough on this planet, no need to make it worse by submitting random people to your will. Not with the history of slavery in this desert.
That's why you're certain that both you and the boy are safe. No one in their right mind would come here willingly. Good thing you're not. No need be Force sensitive to see that you're not what you once were. There are no traces left of the General, no remnants of your apparent bravery. And yet, in some ways, you're much more yourself than you've ever been.
There's no war which makes you no one. You're not against it, because you hated the war as much as anyone, even if they tried to make you someone because of it. Actually, the fact that they plastered your face all over the galaxy might have made you hate it even more. All you wanted was to protect peace. You even picked up Soresu for that very reason; protection instead of blind attacks. You were a negotiator, but there are no negotiations in battle. When the war began, you had already lost.
And your kindness made you feel the suffering around you all the more. It kept grinding against your mind, slipping through the smallest cracks in your shields, so much that at times, you would almost drown in it. You used to hide it behind your duty as a Jedi, behind the Code, behind your role as a Master, behind a reasonable adult facade. You wanted the children happy, so you hid how broken you were and they thought you cold and poised. They didn't dare to come to you with their problems anymore. You lost them.
It's a failure. Your life is full of them, so it's nothing new, but it's probably the worst of them all. You've watched almost everyone you've ever loved die, so you thought that if they didn't love you they could be spared. Your presence is like a disease, a curse. You don't even dare to visit Master Yoda on Dagoba because he spent so much time with you already that you fear a single second more might doom him. But you made the mistake to love them – attachments are against the Code but you've always struggled with that, and everyone knew except for the people who mattered. Maybe your presence isn't what hurts, maybe it's only your love. That's why you have known for long what the universe had in store for you. Infinite sadness, as immeasurable as the desert stretching all around you. So much that you could sink in it and let yourself drown.
You've thought about it. You still do, especially when you let yourself fall into despair. Even if you're not proud of it, there's no stopping your mind, knowing you could join the Force and forget about the scorching heat of the twin suns. Truth be told, you always were a pitiful little thing, and you had thought about letting go before, when you would have simply dissolved into nothingness.
You've never been good enough, so being nothing felt like a deliverance – which is why being here suits you so well. You weren't good enough to be a Padawan. You weren't good enough for a Duchess. You weren't good enough to protect your Master. You weren't good enough to be a Master. You weren't good enough to see the malicious intents right under your eyes. You weren't good enough to prevent the war. You weren't good enough to be a friend. You weren't good enough to be loved. You weren’t good enough for anything.
You try not to think about it, because it makes you sick and then it makes you seriously consider giving up on everything. You still have a duty. Anakin may not have loved you enough to respect the Code, but his choices were his own, and the twins don't deserve scorn for it. Neither did their mother – his wife, and now you can admit to yourself that you knew, deep down, that it was more than a fling, but more than his happiness, egotistical as you are, you wanted to have something, anything, so you turned a blind eye, pretended not to notice, because you would have lost them both and Ahsoka if he had left the Order. You still lost them all. After all, no one ever chooses you.
Difficult to accept and easy to replace. That's what you are. Too troublesome for what you're worth, despite your best efforts. You push and you push – but you're better at negotiating than at understanding feelings and don't know when to stop.
Now, there's no one anymore. You have too much time on your hands and too much space in your heart. The only reason it didn't turn you insane yet, this feeling of being alone in the whole universe, is that you're filling the void with love for two children who will barely remember you when they grow up. You justify your holding onto attachments by the fact that you don't use the Force anymore, to stay safe and hidden, but the truth is, you fear letting go will also mean letting go of your will to live. Alone, no amount of words from Force ghosts are enough to keep you going. With the twins on the other hand…
It's unhealthy but the times are dire and you don't really believe that you have much time left. Your family has disappeared, leaving only you, Master Yoda and a golden-eyed fury who doesn't know right from wrong. You remember the hatred in his eyes and even though he was the one burning, you also felt consumed by the flames. If he had asked, at that last second, you would have held him and let the fire destroy you both. It would have ended this madness. But he didn't, because no matter how close you were, you didn't understand each other, you didn't talk about your feelings and neither of you realised the truth: you both loved too much and yet not enough.
You know there's no use in thinking back to these painful things. But that's the power of the desert, of this forsaken planet: it makes you think about terrible things. Do terrible things too. You still don't know what happened here, with his mother, but you've felt the darkness as soon as you landed here for the time, with a newborn boy in your arms.
You hold on, because you know the day will come. Without a doubt, in your soft and discreet connection with the Force, you can feel it. The children will need you. Luke and Leia. Leia and Luke. Until then, you'll be ready. You're prepared for it. You'll be the mysterious old uncle Ben Kenobi, the one who knows too many things to be a simple butcher living in the wastelands. When you work, when you think too much, at all times of the day, everyday, the idea stays in the back of your mind and so you hold on.
Whenever you close your eyes, to sleep, to meditate, you still hear Anakin call your name. His voice rings in your ears. Again and again.
Obi-Wan!