He could've saved her. Why hadn't he? He could've.
He remembered the ghostly expression on her face. The face that used to be so happy. The face of the girl used to tease him for acting like a girl. That used to ruffle his hair and punch him in the arm and ask him to help with homework and call him her best friend. He watched her grow up with him- and then he watched her die. You're not supposed to have to do that.
He loved her. He'd always love her, because she was Amy and he was Rory, and that's how it was destined to be. He never wanted to lose her, and here he bloody was touching the letters on her grave.
"Here lies Amelia Jessica Pond, 19."
He would get married one day. He would have kids one day. He'd send them off to school and wish them luck on their exams. He'd love someone else. And she wouldn't be that person.
He spent his days here. The first week after the memorial service he never left until Brian had brought him home.
The second month it got better. He didn't leave his room, with the exception of visiting her, but he called Elias once a week.
"You would've laughed at that," he mused, rolling his eyes at his own joke. He paused, and took a deep breath. "Do you ever miss me, Amy? I miss you, Moonface." It was a one-sided conversation, talking to a ghost. But he knew she heard him. So he told her everything.
Two years later, Rory's visits became steadily less. He visited once every two weeks, and left a sunflower on the headstone.
"I have a girlfriend now," Rory told Amy, scratching his new beard. "She's beautiful. You'd know her. Clara Oswald, remember her?"
And two years after that, he sat by the grave, adding another sunflower. "I'm engaged, Amy," he told her, smiling. "I never thought I'd love someone after you. But I do. And I think you'd be happy for me."
Six years after that, Rory had not changed. He didn't love her any less, but he'd grown up. He was married. He was happy. And today was Amy's birthday.
"She's pregnant again," he beamed. "I found out last night. I hope it's a boy this time." Today he left a whole bouquet of flowers at her grave. He leaned his head against the gravestone.
"I guess I have to let you go soon," he sighed, looking up. "You'll be busy on your birthday. Say hi to Van Gogh for me, yeah? And Brian, if you see him."
"Daddy! Daddy!" A little girl with strawberry blonde hair cried, bouncing in her tiny jumper. "Mummy's gone to visit her mum's grave, so she told to me go see you!" She plopped down on her father's lap, touching the sunflowers. She picked up a dandelion and watched in fly around the wind, and stood up to chase it around.
"That's my girl," he whispered when his daughter was out of earshot. "She looks like me- nose and all- but she's more like Clara."
"Daddy! I caught it!"
"Good job, sweetheart!"
An hour later, Rory stood up and took his girl's hand, off to find his wife. The little girl ran ahead of him, spinning in the yellow sunshine.
"Goodbye," he whispered to his friend, smiling. "And by the way, her name is Amelia."