The only tangible thing he brings along is an old tea set, a gift from somebody he doesn't even remember that followed him from planet to planet for ages. Clunky, impractical, beautiful. Irreplaceable.
The rest, he does without with relief. There's barely enough space on the island for him and his grief at first, let alone anything else: the lightsaber, the droids, the ship's wings, the information crystals. Voices. Touches.
Green through gold through white and back to green, over and over and over, salt and seagulls and silence and in the end a certain guilty relief – until she comes.