They all try, one by one. A parade of concerned friends come to give him comfort, comfort that he doesn't want.
He can't accept any peace they offer. Let it consume him alive, the fire she lit within him the day they burned the moonshine shack to the ground. He knows now, that he burned for her on that porch, as he bared his soul to her. He's been burning ever since, the flames eating him up from the inside.
He won't speak to them about her. After all, what words could be possibly use to describe what she was to him? They had nothing. They had everything. How can he tell them what it's like to be slowly brought into the light after a lifetime spent in darkness, only to have it snatched away once again.
Merle would've called him a fucking pussy. The others, his friends, they wouldn't - but he still can't say the words. What's the point? They won't bring her back to him again, they won't stop the fire consuming him.
He feels like he's been running through the dark for weeks, feels like he's once again collapsed at a crossroads. There is no trail left, no rescue to attempt, no road to follow now.
He tries to put it away, tries to be true to all she wished for him, but how can he when he's burning from the inside out, burning slowly to the ground.
The others might not be able to see the smoke, but Daryl can already taste the ashes in his mouth.