My candle burns at both ends,
It will not last the night.
But oh, my foes, and ah, my friends,
It gives a lovely light.
Roald Dahl
Clara
"Doctor..." I murmur sleepily and bury my face into the place where his neck and shoulders meet as old friends. He watches me quietly, green eyes glowing like two ancient stars waiting for the time to pass, and I watch him, lost somewhere between curiosity and awe.
From the day I left the Maitlands to live on the TARDIS, I knew exactly where we stood with each other. Together. You don't have to say those things, and he probably couldn't anyway. But I don't mind, I never will. Sleeping at his side and wearing his ring, that's enough proof for me.
My Doctor, he's scattered through my lives, as much as I am in his. A thousand candles light the TARDIS tonight, and it feels like a life can be found in each and every one of the fickle flames. Like every candle holds a hundred memories, within every memory, many moments. Happy moments, heartbreaking moments, winning moments, and the dying moments. But at the heart of it all, our moments. The times like tonight, where every passing second is saying goodbye to a dear friend, not knowing if you'll see them again, but hoping that you'll never forget them.
The Doctor
I run a hand through her mahogany curls, and I cannot take nearly enough care not to damage anything. How could anything so perfect be anything less than fragile? I wonder if she knows how bright these moments shine among the rest, bathing in the light of a thousand candles. But she still shines the brightest, and I haven't the slightest idea how she does it. How does she constantly have a new facet to her diamond soul to reveal, and yet keep you so very much in the dark?
She is the only one that understands without speaking.
She is the only one that you can love with no wishes left.
She is the only concept that puzzles me, try and ponder as I might.
She satisfies me completely, and keeps me in wanting.
She is the last image in my mind's eye before it recedes to rest; her endlessly deep eyes the picture that ebbs from the shoreline.
She is certain, as much as she is impossible.
I love her for this, this side of me she brings out. The side that does not stumble or lose trains of thought into an unmapped wasteland of distraction. If there were a word to describe what she does to me, I would speak it to no end, that I might return it to her as a gift. I hope that my love will be enough for her to understand her worth.
She asked me to show her the stars, because she thought that stars were the most beautiful things in the universe. And I did, and it still irks me that I made to agree with her that day – because stars are only the second most beautiful thing in all of time and space.
