Good morning, Qui Gon.
Quiet here, as always. I know there are seasons on this planet, but I’m still not sure which one I’m in. But it is peaceful.
You know, we trained ourselves to be able to find solace even in the busiest places. Coruscant teemed with souls, and we meditated right at the center of it. By comparison, you’d think this place would be ideal for meditation.
I can’t tell you why it isn’t.
You used to say that in cases like this the problem wasn’t the place, it was the person. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do about that. It’s not as though I’m going to be any less worried about things after I’ve been here six months. Or six years, or for however long it takes for hope to return to the galaxy. It’s not like I’m suddenly going to get my friends back. It’s not like I’m going to feel any better about what I had to do to poor Anakin. It’s not like–
No, no. I’m sorry. I don’t feel like doing this right now.
—Kenobi, by John Jackson Miller
Art by AgarthanGuide on Deviant Art