So many years! So many birthdays!
The Doctor, young at heart, found it hard to believe that he was one thousand, three hundred years old. He was ancient! Prehistoric! Even by Time Lord standards!
And yet, even having lived so long, the Doctor still looked forward to birthdays. Not the presents, or the cake – just feeling older and wiser and, oh yes, so much better than you were the day before. Like you could conquer anything, because you were a whole year older. The excitement of the special day. Finding something fun to do to celebrate – oh, and, of course, if you could share it with someone special, then that was more valuable than anything.
He'd had one thousand, three hundred birthdays. And every one of them had been special – was crystal clear in his memory.
Eight years old, looking into the Time Vortex. Screaming – running. Not the best of birthdays, but he didn't mind. He had enjoyed the Time Lord rituals back then. They had made him feel grown-up and important. How he must have felt so much higher than his younger friends!
How old would they be now, he often wondered. All of his friends would surely have been still around – would probably have outlived him, for he was reckless, loving a dangerous life.
He'd felt old at fifty. It had seemed such a significant age to him – an age when you can celebrate, but not quite in the same childish way as the parties from, it seemed, so long ago. How he missed the childish parties!
He had vowed then never to grow up. Respectable Time Lord society – being old and wise – didn't at all appeal to him. When he left the Academy, perhaps – perhaps – he'd go and do something unusual. A little bit quirky.
A hundred and fifty years old. Exactly a hundred years of putting a TARDIS on his birthday-list. First as a joke, and then seriously. He wanted to travel. He had – well, you might call it itchy feet. And how itchy his feet were!
His presents had all been books and clothes. Sophisticated, dull books and clothes. Not a single TARDIS – not a single hidden TARDIS key.
Did nobody trust him with a TARDIS? Did all of Gallifrey think that he was content to stay – to watch the Universe, to watch civilisations grow and collapse? He couldn't bear it!
Two hundred years of staying put.
It was time to leave.
One thousand, three hundred years old. And the Doctor felt elated.
He'd shared over a millennium of birthdays with the most diverse of peoples. Friends, lots of friends – oh, and a few enemies, too. He was old now. But he never thought about that. A birthday was just another excuse to be – well, childish.
And he could share it. He could spread his joy and his happiness throughout the entirety of space and time. He'd met so many people and touched their lives – perhaps just with a hand on the shoulder, or a smile, or a brief word. He'd shared not only his birthdays with but his whole life with everyone he could.
Perhaps one day he'll share it with you?
Or perhaps he already has...