One
There was a place where no one ever really grew old and died. They just changed faces, just like people changed clothes once they outgrew them. These people lived forever, but when the war came, they had forever cut short.
They burned as bright as the stars, but were torn apart in the final battle.
There was just one fractured star left, in the end, The one whose hands were awash in the blood of everyone. He'd made sure of it.
Two
There was one thing that stopped that one, tiny star from fading. He travelled; he saw everything there was to see, in any year he wanted.
His mad, impossible, blue box flew through time and space, collecting friends along the way.
He never stopped travelling.
Three
The friends he collected along the way were always the better part of him, the brighter part. The one thing that kept his old heart going, the flame that fuelled his desire to keep moving.
They fixed him, in the end. They shaped him into a better person, eased the loneliness.
But everything came undone when they had to go. Their tiny, blazing flames could never keep up to his burning supernova.
Four
He left footprints everywhere he went in that blue box. He never stopped to notice it, but if he had, he might have seen them.
Worlds worshiped him, but he had no time to ever see that. He never saw that, he was never going to look back.
Five
He'd changed faces often, outgrew them with every near-death. He was a master of not-dying. He lived on, always moving forward with every face he had.
But there wasn't just a new face; there was a new Doctor every time. He never was quite like the man he was before.
Regenerating changed him, wiped his whole soul clean and made him a new man. The only thing that could stay (that would ever stay) was the memories, both the bitter and the sweet.
Six
The only thing that never left him was his mad, impossible, blue box. They were one in the same, changing together and seeing every star that ever was (and ever will be).
It was only supposed to be temporary, just a small trip, but once he started, he never stopped.
There was only forward now.
Seven
Love was the last and most complicated of his problems. He loved many, in all the ways anyone could love.
But in the end, they all had to go. All he really had left were the fingerprints they left upon his soul, the tiny reminders of what once was.
Some were just drawn to him, like a moth to a flame. But they always got burned, no matter how hard he tried.
He was like a wildfire, wonderful and bright, but get too close and get burned.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who is property of the BBC. This is just fanfiction.