You know what they are? Children. Like lighting a candle’s going to make everything OK, or even saying a prayer. Or pretending Elena’s not going to end up just like the rest of us murdering vampires. Stupid, delusional, exasperating little children. And I know what you’re going to say: ‘It makes them feel better, Damon.’ So what? For how long? A minute, a day? What difference does it make? Because in the end, when you lose somebody, every candle, every prayer is not going to make up for the fact that the only thing you have left is hole in your life where that somebody that you cared about used to be. And a rock with a birthday carved into it that I’m pretty sure is wrong. So thanks, friend. Thanks for leaving me here to babysit. Because I should be long gone by now. I didn’t get the girl, remember? I’m just stuck here fighting my brother and taking care of the kids. You owe me big.