The Doctor had never seen the point of birthdays. He had always dismissed them as stupid, human celebrations, and scoffed whenever one of his human companions had suggested a party. A party! Him! Hah!
She had known. Rose had never mentioned it.
Even the thought of her made the Doctor wince: he would never forget her, he knew that.
But why did it have to be so painful?
Now, he saw birthdays as a reminder that every year, every day, every hour, she was gone. Never to return.
The Doctor had never celebrated a birthday, and he would definitely not start now.