As it turns out, when you think about time, you just end up feeling kind of lost. Maybe that's ironic being the Knight of Time and all. If Bro were here, he could have told you, but Bro hasn't been here for a while (seconds, but not many). It's not that you don't understand, because you do. Sort of. You understand the loops and streams and paradoxes and timelines as well as anyone can, probably better, but...

But.

Someone, somewhere flips a coin, makes a bet, takes a chance, takes a step and something happens.

You're living your life before the game, and you're living your life when it was happy, and you're living your life when it was fucking terrible, and you're living your life when it was peaceful and chaotic and everything else in between and you're living it all at once. Or maybe you're not because maybe you never did and never will. Time is funny like that (and by 'funny' you means really fucking cruel).

The worst part about knowing the future is knowing how incredibly screwed you've been all along. All that gung-ho hero, David and Goliath crock; the standing up against impossible odds and coming out with a fashionable scar on your cheek and a hot chick at your side; it's all bullshit. When they say "we're doomed" in one of John's shitty movies, it's never true. You know because John has made you watch so many of those fucking-

No, you don't, do you? You don't know because you've never met him; because you're the Dave that exists right now and right now there are so many other Daves with so many other memories you may or may not share and it's really not fair to bare the burden of coping with all of this. It's not fucking fair. You've got all the time in the world but none of it's actually yours and you'll never, ever be like any of the heroes in John's movies.

You're not a hero.

Heroes never die; not like this anyway. Heroes have grand last stands and stirring, triumphant blazes of glory. But you, you have a million, tiny, inconsequential deaths. Every one of them reminds you of that dream with the birds. Maybe that dream was ironic, too, and jesus christ you miss Bro. You miss the life you never had and the life you'll never get. You miss when the days when words like 'goodbye' weren't just as sad as words like 'hello'.

You miss the days when words like 'beginning' and words like 'ending' actually meant something.

Somewhere far away from now, things are changing.

The sword is stained; well-used but sharp. You barely feel it at all and then you feel a whole lot. You'd be cursing if your mouth wasn't full of blood. Nothing heroic about that.

And then it's over. Again.

Later, a long long time ago (minutes, but not many) you're grieving over the corpse of your brother who is still alive out there, in the places where you've already been.

Maybe you're grieving for yourself, too.