I can only apologise. I had to write this, to get all my Amy Pond feelings off my chest.
It was decades since she had seen him, and his face, his funny face with those kind, terribly sad eyes and that adorable chin, was all but faded from her memory. She couldn't even recall the sweet flop of his hair any longer, but the voice remained, imprinted in her brain, saying sweet things. She remembered his child-like laugh, and his joyous "Geronimo!", but she also recalled the terrible sadness in his voice when he said goodbye to her. Come along Pond, please.
She wasn't prepared for those emotions again, not this soon after- no. She picked up the book from her bedside table, an adventure story, not as wonderful as her adventures but not as heartbreaking either. She laughed quietly to herself as she flicked to the last page. For a moment she thought about reading it, to know the end before it happened, to be comforted by the certainty; but that wasn't her way. She had known the ending to Rory's story, and the Doctor's, and it hurt too much. Shutting her eyes, she ripped out the page.
Amy looked at the empty space in the bed beside her. She was still getting used to the coldness, the absence of Rory. She told herself she had had long enough with him: two thousand years was enough, and it was selfish to want more, but she knew that no amount of time with the one you loved would ever be enough.
Steadily, she hauled herself out of bed, grabbing her cane to support her. She went to the window, creaking open the frame, which hadn't been oiled since Rory. The wind outside was brisk and made her shiver, but it woke her up, and that was what she needed. No matter how much Rory tried to convince her otherwise, Amy couldn't get over the feeling that this life wasn't real. She felt like it was all a dream, that her real life had been stolen from her by the angels. The air just about made her believe it was real.
It used to be a trial to believe her life with the Doctor was real. Before Rory came with them, grounding her to Earth, the adventures across time and space had felt like a dream. A wonderful, brilliant dream: terrifying and heart-racing but so amazing, but a dream nonetheless, floaty and unbelievable. She wouldn't give those days up for anything.
She wouldn't even give up the days of waiting, the years of her childhood when the Doctor hadn't come, when she had waited in vain. Rory and Melody had both been there, her husband and her daughter, though she may not have known it at the time. She couldn't ask for anything more.
The adventures had been perfect, the best days of her life: of anyone's life. But now she was reaching the end, the final page, the eleventh hour.
She lifted her arm and pushed the piece of paper out of the window, letting it catch on the wind and fly away, away to her raggedy man.