He keeps on throwing himself into the fire to save the others.
I know.
It's foolish.
I know.
Why do you let him?
Because he is a stubborn fool. Because he is one of my stubborn fools. Because he is one of your stubborn fools. Because he is his own stubborn fool.
He's going to break.
Maybe. Maybe he'll win first. It isn't time for any of them to go yet, after all.
So it doesn't matter, whether or not he tries.
I think it does. I think it's not their time because he's a stubborn fool. The two concepts are inextricable.
It's six months.
It's only six months.
How can we say we care for him, then let him break himself against the rocks like this?
How can we say we care for him, then fail to understand, fail to become and know his own struggle for those he cares about in turn?
By keeping him close. By letting him breathe. By making him stop to take a moment to love himself instead of burning every last ounce of his love onto others.
I don't think love is like kindling for fire. I think love is like water. And even as he pours all his love into his friends, his family, I think they will pour it back into him. He is love. They all are love. We've told them all that, time and time again, remember?
He is yours.
He is theirs, too. And they are his. And they are all ours. And we are both theirs.
Why do you think he does it, gives his soul and self away so freely?
Because he has hope. Above all else, above desperation and pain and boredom and agony and even love, he has hope, that beautiful mortal construct. As long as he has hope, he will always choose them.
It's foolish.
I know. But it's beautiful.