It happened quickly; falling in love with the Doctor, like reaching the ending of a great book. Yet, once I fell it came easy to me, almost like breathing, which was so utterly bizarre and frightening because I never fell for anyone so readily, so naturally. Loving him felt like something I was born to do, and one of the few great achievements in my otherwise monotonous existence was getting him to reciprocate my feelings.
I knew he loved me even if he never said it, he loved me in his own odd way. The secret smiles when something dangerous and impossibly thrilling was transpiring. The bounce in his step when twirling around the TARDIS counsel, thinking of riveting new places to show me, some of which had names that made my head spin. The lopsided grin and the crack in his voice when he said it was a date or when he held out his arm and told me so casually to, "Come along..."
The places and adventures he lead me to took my breath away, quite literally actually with all the running. Yet, I found myself happiest alone with him on the TARDIS, where he was not all cunning and heightened ego. Alone that clever little mind of his still shown through but at times he could almost be calm, even his bouncing excitement seemed muted when talking of strange things. My favorite times were when I laid with him, head against his chest listening to the mollifying beating of his hearts and he whispered to me about Gallifrey; sometimes the history and culture and other times just the shear beauty of it.
However, the universe is full of harsh realities. We both knew our relationship would have to end. I would grow old and he was unable to grow old with me. It did not stop me from blissfully hoping that it could continue unchallenged by fate or time. When the clocked stopped for us, for me, it was cruel. There were no tearful goodbyes before the catastrophe tore me away from him, my Doctor.
Now, I am everything and I am nothing; I exist in a stasis between sentience and living. My consciousness now mute and stored in one of the TARDIS's many rooms. There are times where I sleep for long periods of time, relieving my memories, and other times I watch as he does what he always does.
My emotions exist disconnected and strange as I watch him, as I invade his thoughts like a ghost dancing around the edges of perception. I smile with a mouth I do not process when he is exuberant and bouncing on the balls of his feet and I cry tears I cannot shed when he despairs about those he could not save. When he dreams I am there, observing, sometimes he dreams of Gallifrey where I can see it for myself. Other times he dreams of better days, days of the past, where I see faces I've never met; ones I know by shear descriptions and names. My favorite times are when he dreams of the time we spent together.
This is all that I can ever have and even now I can only observe his dream, his thoughts, and his life. He does not come to where I preside even when the TARDIS -such a sweet thing- moves me closer to him. All because he does not like goodbyes.