What is beautiful?
The twin suns of Gallifrey watching over the blistering orange sky and the mighty glass dome holding a citadel in which I used to call home? Or perhaps, the slopes of deep red grass, contrasting with a sprinkling of soft, summer snow resting on the blades?
That was beautiful.
What is beautiful?
Looking down at the all so familiar planet earth and watching as the moon slowly orbits it?
That is beautiful.
The people who live there which look so much like my home people, my neighbours, my family and my friends?
Is that beautiful? Or is that hurt?
Looking into her dark brown eyes; they glisten with a longing for adventure.
That should be beautiful.
What about her laugh, her curiosity, her longing to run and run - just like me?
Why isn't that beautiful?
She reminds me too much of home to be beautiful. She says she wants to come with me. Before, I would've said yes. I wouldn't have denied her of the beauty of the universe.
What is beautiful?
Maybe it takes time for me to see it again? She can see beautiful. Maybe she can help me see beautiful? Forget the war?
Rose Tyler. Maybe she'll become beautiful to me?