It was true. Everything that Shakespeare said that day was true.
How long could he keep up the pretence, how long could he keep the madness at bay?
How long could he go on living in hope, for the simple reason that there was nothing left?
These thoughts often plagued him, in the darkness, in the back of is mind when no one else was there, once everyone had gone.
The truth hurt. More than he ever thought it would. Everyone had gone everyone that he had ever cared about. Gone.
Was this all that he was meant to be?
The universal protector, the man who put the universe before himself, before his own emotions and he wasn't surprised that he could have been the Valeyard, for what life was this?
But he had to stay positive, if not for himself, then for his friends.
He had to think of what he had rather than what he had lost.
He still had friends, still had the Tardis and still had his memories.
The one thing that the universe could not take away from him.
His memories, memories of happiness, hope, serenity, memories of pain and of loss but most of all memories of love.