What have we learned? Here in this darkness, in the slime and in the graveyard—what have we learned?
Have we finally learned the truth about hope? How much it lies, how it rips itself out of reach cruelly? How little good it does in the end? Or have we learned about death? Perhaps not something I need learn more in, but it seems all others do—so did we? Did we learn about the inevitable point where life leaves the body, where the heart stops beating and the mind stops thinking and all that is left is emptiness and silence and nothing?
Have we finally learned the truth? Have we learned about friends, about carers? Not everyone dies, but everyone leaves—but hope works against this and leaves the sickly poison that people will come back. Death stands there waiting to disillusion the seekers, and all that's left is mocking laughter and silence.
Have we learned anything at all? To stand up straight and salute when told? To smile and laugh when everything's cold? Have we learned to throw off the veil or have we learned to take it up again? I can't see everything—but I remember what I do.
Tell me, Teacher—what have we learned? That hugs are a lie? To smile when everything's breaking apart and to push others away? Have we learned not to hope, to see the world as it is? Have we learned not to stop? Have we learned to keep running, to never look back?
Tell me, Teacher—where are we going? The classroom is empty and the books are all burnt. The sky is still crying and the world is still hurt. We learned of the impossible and of hope and deceit. We learned when to run and when to smile—and we'll never forget.
AN: So, half the reason I love the Doctor is because I certainly connect with his personality and character. And my default reaction to much emotion is to shut down and shove it away into a story. Thank you for taking the time to read this—and I am so sorry. God bless you! 5-27-2015