This is my first Doctor Who fic... I wrote it while I watched "The Girl in the Fireplace". I suppose it's poetry, but I've never written free-verse, and I think it's... well, I don't really know what it is. A drabble, I guess.
Please enjoy! :)
Oh - and it's Rose's POV, by the way. Takes place after "The Girl in the Fireplace".
Nothing
.
Does it matter?
Does it matter if the Doctor loves me?
And does the Doctor love me?
He's had all space and time and history to choose from, why would he love me?
.
And what if he does, and I'm just the next in line,
The next in a lucky line of girls
Who found a place in his precious hearts?
What if he's the kind of man
To kiss you, then go through the fireplace and kiss another?
And when you die and he goes on, does he
Forget you?
Of course, why wouldn't he? You were just the same as all the rest.
I am just the same as all the rest.
Another number in the line up, another face in the crowd.
Another girl who dotes hopelessly on his every word.
Another he can love for a second.
.
Another he jumps through time for. Another he forgets, just for a second...
Another time carries away before he can touch.
Another.
And it hurts to just be the next...
The next lonely star.
.
They say he knows all their names, every star out there.
He knows our names, too, the faceless line up.
Take a number, take a name, and wait in the reception area,
Read some magazines.
Wait till the Doctor can see you.
Wait till he can look at you,
Tell you what's wrong
Kiss it better
And forget you.
Do you want that?
And is it worth it?
The heartbreak of being just another.
.
I cry, curled up in a corner of the box, the blue box that's been home to me for so long.
Home is where the heart is.
The first time he can't say he's alright
When she dies.
When he's too late to see the stars with her.
Would he just walk on, if I died?
.
No.
He didn't walk on when she died.
And she's just like me.
And just like the next.
And just like the next.
And just like the ones before.
.
No, he doesn't just walk on.
No, it hurts you more than that.
He'll think about you, one last time, straighten his glasses, blink a few times.
But there really are no tears.
.
Then he'll be back to laughing and cheating death.
He'll just be back the way he was.
.
Don't love immortals.
They're not to be had.
You'll live, and he'll be with you.
Then you'll die
Or he'll abandon you - yes, he abandons.
The world is so big, to him.
He abandons
And forgets
Then you'll be lost
A little piece of space junk
Floating
Through
The Universe
.
His mind isn't like yours.
Or mine.
The whole of space and time, that's what he sees.
And doesn't it drive you mad?
The whole of space and time, and you're just a spark of love that landed on his heart
Glowed for a moment
And then got brushed away.
.
The most special sparks burn him, just a bit.
But then they're gone.
.
Time Lord.
.
That what he is, and when you forget it,
It breaks your heart
To remember.
.
But you can't help it.
I'm trapped.
I'm trapped because of those eyes
And that smile
And that screwdriver
In those hands
.
And...
.
What if I'm nothing?
What if he's nothing?
But he's not.
And I am.
Nothing.
Yeah... so, everyone was like, "Oh, the Girl in the Fireplace is SO good, you'll love it, you'll cry, it's one of my favorites."
And after I watched it, I thought -
Well, I thought what I just wrote.
If I cried, it was because I just love the Doctor to BITS and seeing him hopping from girl to girl was just a bit heart wrenching. It shows you, though, a speck, a little window, on just how immortal the Doctor is, and just what that means.
But I didn't cry... wish I had, but I was just too stinkin' jealous to cry.
Maaan, it sucks. :/ I hate having whopping big crushes on immortal fictional characters.