It just happens.
It ought to happen sometimes.
Nobody sees the Doctor like that, like now, lying on the grass that smells the other planet — not Gallifrey, not Earth. Somebody else's planet.
Total apathy. The indifference to everything in this Galaxy, in time and space. Who could even imagine that the Doctor — the one who's always running, exploring, laughing and adventuring — could be obsessed — even for a moment — with such a dull, such a boring thing like apathy?
The Doctor is never indifferent. Never. Everybody knows that. The gear-wheels of the Universe would change their places if the Doctor would stop being caring. He is too important. It is too important — to care.
But not now. Everyone has right to be weak sometimes.
Everyone but the Doctor. Because being treated like god means that you're deprived of that. By them. By all who are calling your name in the night, watching the stars and hoping that you do hear them. That you are listening.
And then here you are again. Alone and lost like your own planet, like your childhood, like the ones you used to love. Once or forever.
So many losses that will never stop increasing, because the life is like that. And the longer it is, the greater singularity grows between your hearts. And there's nothing you can do. Stop hiding your face will not help you as it never helped to be the hugging person or the haughty old sprig.
But you can't just push them away as well as you can't make yourself forget. Because they, this endless run and the call are the only things that keep you from falling to this apathy
forever.