...

Assuming I'm not entirely forgotten post-mortem I frankly expect that I'll erode into a big nasty pile of archetypes and pithy adjectives before all that remains is a fictional character who once lived on a pale blue dot. I've made a hobby out of preemting that kind of treatment and leaving little landmines like these built specifically to ruin someone's evening. 

I think I'll sing this post out with a little short story.

There was once a time traveling man who never wanted to be born but was too scared of never having existed at all. He would make a routine of traveling back in time to witness the dominos of sweet nothings that resulted in him existing, soaking in the melancholy they inspired in him. Over time the melancholy turned into deperation, then pain, then rage. He devised plans for a device that could make anyone feel a carefully calibrated guilt for their actions just from pointing it at them and flipping the switch.

Anyone he could find who participated in any way towards his creation he would then visit and point the device at, rendering them just guilty enough to feel bad but not so much that they wouldn't live out the sweet nothings that made the man. He grew old, dying lonely and unaware that his great grandchild helped build his time machine.