He remembers laughter, a woman who kissed all of the parts of his body which are now brown from the heat of the two suns bearing down upon them, a woman who is now dead and a man who is now as good as dead. Occasionally he will start to recite stories to himself though he finds that they always get darker. He is still yet to work out whether that is because how he is now or whether this is because the stories he knows were always this dark. Something tells him its the combination of the two.
The books Obi Wan finds in the house become half his world. On occasions he will sit at the bottom of the stairs, hunched over a book, and he will read about people who used to swim in rivers before Tatooine became a desert world, a slave girl who memorised precious jewels and objects, and a boy who used to be able to read peoples thoughts.
At times he will look up from the book he is reading, his eyes distant, and wonder how Anakin had first come to learn how to read. He wished he had asked him that question when they were still brothers. A brother should know that.
The books he would read occasionally had missing parts of the plot. He would find himself being reminded of how during the war he would come across a road which had a section missing, a town which no longer had a centre and a man who no longer had his limbs as he had cut them off.
He tries (unsuccessfully again) not to think about such things but finds that they have been etched into his mind, like his and a girl's name he used to love when he was a teenager are etched into a tree trunk.