It wasn't a dream. Dead men don't dream. But I still talk about it like one because how else are people gonna understand? No one else has come back. Not from a final death. Just me.

So I'll tell it like it was a dream and I was asleep.

Firstly, if I was asleep and it was a dream—and I wasn't, and it wasn't, just to be clear—then I didn't want to wake up from it. Where I was, I don't think anyone would want to wake up. You were there, Sundance. The Traveler was there. I couldn't see it, but I felt it. That deep, in-your-bones feeling. The white light that feels like nothin' but love. I was part of everything I'd ever lost, and it was all there, that feeling. I let myself get lost in it, and… I was there, with everything. I was home.

And then I woke up.

And I was alone.

Last time, I wasn't alone for long. I was right behind you on the road to oblivion. But those few moments without you? All agony.

And now? Here, without you? All agony.

I didn't know how I was going to go on. I didn't want to go on. I thought, "Here's where I'll stop. I'll plant my foot right here. That's all there is. That's all I'll get."

But no, I didn't have a choice. It goes on, whatever 'it' is. No one asks you how you want to do it. No one tells you how, either. And it wouldn't matter, anyway. It just goes on. It drags you back.

So I'll go on without you, Sundance. I have to.

But I'll still wonder: what would I have done with a choice?