Don’t think about Spock going about his day handling ambassador business on Romulus, only to suddenly and completely break down with no warning signs whatsoever.
Don’t think about Spock feeling the t'hy'la bond being thoroughly ripped apart and shattered upon a moment’s glance, as Kirk exhales his final breath on the other side of the galaxy.
Don’t think about the visceral, physical pain Spock endured upon realizing that the unthinkable had happened—too far away from him, and too soon in his lifetime.
Don’t think about Spock remembering what it was like the last time—separated by a wall of glass and unable to touch each other—and knowing that this time around, they hadn’t even stood a chance at getting once last time to express their affections.
Don’t think about Spock running through every possible loophole scenario in his mind a thousand times over, just to find some way to give Kirk a second chance at life as Kirk had given one him.
Don’t think about Spock relaying back and forth between ridiculous, illogical, impossible thoughts of bringing Kirk back, and eventually coming to the conclusion that he clearly must no longer believe in no-win scenarios to have fathomed those thoughts in the first place.
Don’t think about Spock finally understanding just how deeply “the needs of the one outweigh the needs of the many” now runs in his soul, because for every massive death consisting of hundreds of Vulcans that he ever felt the pain of, none of them could even compare to losing James Tiberius Kirk.
