Can't wait for 'The Name of the Doctor', where hopefully we'll get some sort of 'clarafication'.
*snorts* I'm so punny. (not really I stole it from a Tumblr post)
Enjoy!
...
Clara.
Oswin.
Oswald.
Who are you? What are you? You go against everything I've ever believed in, everything I hold to be absolutely true, and yet you still exist. Your lungs breathe in oxygen and expel carbon dioxide, your brain whirs about, generating emotions and memories and feelings, of love, pain and anger, and all the while your heart keeps beating, pumping blood to every single cell in your body, keeping you alive and breathing and thinking. Every second this continues, every single second I look at you, I don't understand any of it.
This is important, because I understand everything. I have seen things, things that others would not have had the capacity to comprehend, much less understand. I have seen the beginning, and the end of Existence, walked the edge of Infinity and bested the abyss of Time herself. I understand a lot of things, some barely, but still more than any other living thing in the entirety of time and space. If there's one thing I do better than anything else, it's understanding.
I do not understand you at all, Clara Oswald.
I met you first in the Dalek Asylum. You were Soufflé Girl, and you were brave. You'd been alone for a year, all on your own, making soufflés and listening to classical music, and doing what the human race does best; surviving, against all odds. Except you weren't human, in the end. Not human, not anymore. You had been turned into a Dalek, the very essence of hate and destruction. Except, what you did was anything but Dalek. You saved me, and my friends, and you were brave. The last thing you said to me was to run, you clever boy, and remember you. You died. I thought that was the last of it, but I was wrong.
I met you again, although at the time I didn't realise it. Christmas, Victorian London, the Ponds gone and a pit of despair surrounding me. You were a barmaid, but you were also a governess, and you got me off my cloud. You made me feel again, and you were perfect and brave and funny and just that little bit flirty. We ran together. I thought it was just the start, another beginning for me, even though I was tired of endings. I should have known it would happen, it always does. They're always brave, and they always get lost or left behind… or worse. You died again, and it was my fault. You died because of me and I stood over your grave. You told me to run, and to remember you, and this time I did.
I found you again, on Earth in the 21st Century, or rather you found me in a sort of roundabout way. I almost lost you again, but this time, this time, I was able to save you. You didn't die. Even more, you did what Clara and Oswin couldn't, you came away with me, in my big, old, rattly blue box, and we went on adventures, you and no one else.
Oswin Oswald.
Clara Oswin Oswald.
Clara Oswald.
The Girl Twice-Dead, the Possible Impossibility. You're not even remotely compatible with anything I believed in before I met you. What are you? A trick? A puzzle? Are you luring me into a trap, because if you are, you're doing a good job at it. I can't resist you, you're an enigma, a mystery, the only one in the universe worth solving, because otherwise I have nothing but an eternity of misery ahead of me.
If you truly are the same girl, the same woman who pulled me off of my cloud, who saved my life and told me to run, who was always so brave, and died because of me, then how?
How are you possible?