The People Who Are Sad
They don't ask to be seen. As a matter of fact, they prefer to melt into the background. Become entirely unnoticeable. They aren't here for the money or the fame or to be congratulated or thanked. They are here because they must be. This doesn't mean they are not important.
Some are quiet. Some are loud. The quiet ones are waiting. Because sadness to them isn't really sadness anymore. It's breathing. The loud ones are running, trying so hard not to drown in the past. They forget because that is the only way to go on. Because every time they look back it gets harder and harder to move forwards. We all know these ones. The loud ones. They surround themselves with people who are happy. The quiet ones are more difficult to find.
I knew someone once. A long time ago in the future. I didn't quite understand then. Then, it was harder to tell. Loneliness was obvious, he was-is-was-the loneliest man in the world. But sadness? His kind of sadness was bone-deep and harder to see. Because the rest of it was madness. How do you look past all the wonderful nonsense? There are things we know about ourselves that no one will ever hear, ever see. What if these things defined who you were? If people only saw the manic energy, the intelligence, the side of you that doesn't come close to what's inside? If no one ever noticed the sad man with a box, hiding from everyone, including himself? Mourning the world and bearing the weight of the universe.
He was impossible. Entirely impossible. I guess that's why I went with him. Not just to see other planets or all of time. In the end, I couldn't resist the mad man. And I would have waited a lifetime for him. It would have been worth the wait. He was called the Doctor, but I never knew his real name. You don't need to know his name to love him, though. And for a long time, he was my best friend. Of course, all good things must come to an end, eventually, especially when it comes to him. My one regret is that, when it was my time to go, I only added to his sadness. But as someone once told me, life is a pile of good things and bad things. I can only hope that, in the long run, I am part of his pile of good things.
One definition of empathy is understanding the motives of others. I can honestly say his motives were always a mystery to me, though how anyone could ever understand the mind of the loneliest man in the universe, I don't know. I only know what has come from his motivation. He has sacrificed himself and so much more to save the smallest people. He has even sacrificed me.
But you could never destroy my faith in you, Raggedy man, not really.
If you meet him, you will understand. You will see the mad man with the ridiculous smile and kind, old eyes that have seen the beginning and end of the universe. Maybe he will even be your imaginary friend. But you will see too late, far too late, the sadness that sits in his hearts. And, I am afraid, you may only know him under a different face.
Just know that life with the Doctor does not last forever. Because he is the sun and we are just tiny sparks that can go out so quickly. In the blink of an eye.
Sometimes I hear him. That voice which could bring about the end of existence. Sometimes, if I listen, it's there. And that box, that impossible blue box, would be waiting outside my window.
Come along, Pond.
Raggedy man, goodbye.
In loving memory of Amelia Williams