My Dearest:
By the time you read this, you will not know who I am. I will always know who you are, but you are lucky enough to forget me. I'll admit it, I made some mistakes. I'm not proud of them. Right now, I'm back, living with my Mother and being forced to deal with the consequences. One of them is not being able to be with you, but that's okay. I'm okay. You have no idea who I am and you never will, but once I knew you and we were great friends. Then I messed up, and here I am and there you are.
Right now I imagine you have just found these papers. You found them stashed in your favorite novel (Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. See? I paid attention to you.). You've just sat down in that ragged old chair of yours by that big window. Maybe the sun is shining down from high above on this paper and it's a beautiful day. Maybe it's nighttime, and you've just snuggled into your pajamas and are reading by lamplight. I hope that it is raining when you read this. I hope that it storms. I hope thunder cracks with every tick of the clock. I know that you don't like the storms, but it will help you as you are reading this, keeping you just distracted enough so that you're never able to understand the emotion that I am putting into these pages.
When I first met you, I didn't really meet you, you could say. I was at a market somewhere, I don't know where, and I bumped into you. I don't remember this experience, but this is what you always told me happened. You said that I was running, chasing after a tall man with big ears and a leather jacket, and a teenage girl with blonde hair, wearing the Union Jack on her t-shirt. Someone said something about a monster. I bumped into you, but I kept running, not noticing you. That's how a lot of our story goes. I am always running, chasing after things that aren't really there. Jobs, opportunities, friendships… It doesn't matter. Running is- was – my specialty. Now I am tied to my flat.
You see, there are a few things about me that no one knows. Except for you. Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, we knew each other. I would like to think that I know you, but I know that you will not be the same. On February 17, you will leave your flat to go to work. The route that you normally take will be blocked and you will have to take a detour. You will never see me, running through that market. You won't follow me all the way home to tell me that my shoe is untied. You will never meet me.
The Doctor said that that alone is my punishment. He said that taking you away from me was the only thing that he could do to get through to me. Instead, he gave me these pages and told me to write something. Anything I wanted and he would give them to you. At first I thought that he meant for me to say my goodbyes, but then he explained. He was going back to the day we met, and he was making sure that we never met. Creating a dangerous paradox just to punish me. He told me that he would make sure that you received these papers, just so someone else might be able to learn from my mistakes. If these papers had to delay a message to you, if you were to stop reading them right now, there is only one thing that I want you to know. If a man called the Doctor shows up, sporting all of his magic and toys, turn around and run. Run as fast and as far as you can. The Doctor has only had one constant companion in all of his travels through time and space: pain. Anyone who gets close to him is bound to get hurt. I love you. I loved the you that knew me. I want you to turn and run because I have already caused enough damage to you. I am sorry. I wish I could undo it but I can't. Instead, I'll tell you our story. Maybe it's only my story now. I'm not sure who has this story now, since it never happened. I suppose it's all in my head. I just hope that you can find some joy in my pain.