I'd never been one for a domestic lifestyle. Maybe that's why I started running with the Doctor in the first place. I was so young when I met him, still am young I suppose. I hadn't finished school (of course, I dropped out) and I worked at a shop. It was his fault I lost my job. He blew up the building. I was scared of him at first, can you imagine being scared of the Doctor? Unless you're something awful like a Dalek how was it possible for the Doctor to be scary? He was wonderful. He was everything wonderful in the universe packed into one magnificent man. It was probably because he'd seen so much of it. You travel enough you start to pick up on the worlds around you. I think that's what happened to me. My mum told me I'd changed, that she didn't know me anymore. But I'd changed for the better right? How could the Doctor have made me worse? He was too wonderful to ruin people.
When I travelled with him I was the happiest I'd ever been. When we were seperated, when I died, that was the worst day of my life. I spent that night running through alternative situations in my head. What if I could've held on just that one second longer? We would've walked off into the sunset, arm in arm - but then what? We would've traveled forever, just like I wanted to, just like he wanted to though he couldn't tell me. Only it wouldn't be forever. Because I would die and he would live for another eternity with a million other people. Perhaps it was good how we were separated. What a horrid thought. But the memories I had of him were good and pure and his of mine were mutual. He knew I loved him, I'd been fortunate enough to tell him so, and I knew he loved me, though he hadn't gotten the chance to say it. It was a perfect tragedy, a beautiful ending in someone's sick mind. Only in my mind it was reality and it stung and burned and wouldn't go away.
What if the worst had happened? What if Pete, my father of another world, hadn't risked his life to save me? How did he know to come get me? And thank god he had. Living life in the void had to be worse than living a universe away from the Doctor, right? I didn't like to think about that, life in the void, what the Doctor described as 'hell.' But I was already in hell because he wasn't here.
I spent countless hours wishing he could grow old with me and we could travel and age and live and die as one. And though domescicity wasn't in my blood and wasn't even a consideration for the Doctor, it would've been nice to have a family with him. That's what people do when they're in love right? People who vow to spend eternity together, they have babies, they love each other so much that they decide to make minature versions of each other. I wondered what the Doctor's children would be like. He'd had children before but never spoke of them. Grandchildren I believe he mentioned once. Did he not care about them - is that how children were treated on his planet - or was the memory of them too painful to talk about? Would I be like that? Would my memory be too painfull for him to think of, would I be that passing sentence "I was in love once," or would I be forgotten like all those other companions he'd had? Surely he hadn't forgotten any but there were certainly days that passed where they didn't once cross his mind. Would there be days in his future where my name and my face and my voice simply slipped his mind? Because not one day would pass where the Doctor, everything he was and everything he did, would not cross my mind.
When I travelled with him I was the happiest I'd ever been. When we were seperated, when I died, that was the worst day of my life. I spent that night running through alternative situations in my head. What if I could've held on just that one second longer? We would've walked off into the sunset, arm in arm - but then what? We would've traveled forever, just like I wanted to, just like he wanted to though he couldn't tell me. Only it wouldn't be forever. Because I would die and he would live for another eternity with a million other people. Perhaps it was good how we were separated. What a horrid thought. But the memories I had of him were good and pure and his of mine were mutual. He knew I loved him, I'd been fortunate enough to tell him so, and I knew he loved me, though he hadn't gotten the chance to say it. It was a perfect tragedy, a beautiful ending in someone's sick mind. Only in my mind it was reality and it stung and burned and wouldn't go away.
What if the worst had happened? What if Pete, my father of another world, hadn't risked his life to save me? How did he know to come get me? And thank god he had. Living life in the void had to be worse than living a universe away from the Doctor, right? I didn't like to think about that, life in the void, what the Doctor described as 'hell.' But I was already in hell because he wasn't here.
I spent countless hours wishing he could grow old with me and we could travel and age and live and die as one. And though domescicity wasn't in my blood and wasn't even a consideration for the Doctor, it would've been nice to have a family with him. That's what people do when they're in love right? People who vow to spend eternity together, they have babies, they love each other so much that they decide to make minature versions of each other. I wondered what the Doctor's children would be like. He'd had children before but never spoke of them. Grandchildren I believe he mentioned once. Did he not care about them - is that how children were treated on his planet - or was the memory of them too painful to talk about? Would I be like that? Would my memory be too painfull for him to think of, would I be that passing sentence "I was in love once," or would I be forgotten like all those other companions he'd had? Surely he hadn't forgotten any but there were certainly days that passed where they didn't once cross his mind. Would there be days in his future where my name and my face and my voice simply slipped his mind? Because not one day would pass where the Doctor, everything he was and everything he did, would not cross my mind.