He's just misguided I think.
He goes out till the lights up,
He doesn't care for the day.
He doesn't know what he's worth.
But he's self confessed and a little obsessed...
And he keeps a bottle inside his vest.
I guess that's adolescence at its best.
He says, "Live fast and die young,
Forget the past and move on.
What's done is done."
Maybe if life weren't so hard -
If he got off to a better start,
He'd be somewhere.
Nina Nesbitt – Noserings and Shoestrings
The Doctor
I study Clara's ever-changing features as they arrange themselves to a new height of beauty; is she also studying me? She is... What I would give to understand her at any given moment. Which, of course, I technically can, but I won't. That would be rather overstepping of me.
Clara
I don't think he can see it. I suppose you can't really see your own face. It's just... I don't know what it is. But it's what creases his forehead and makes the grieving lines that embrace his mouth and nose wearily, like a tired mother does a sick child.
I worry for him.
I laugh it off.
I wait, be sure.
I cry.
I peek between fingers.
I shrink from myself.
I breathe, stay calm.
I lie.
I smile at him.
I hurt after healing.
I can't, I can't.
Why?
He's done this to himself, but he refuses to feed that sad and terrible mongrel. And neither do I as we spread our bodies like butter beneath our quilt, each pretending nonchalance to the other. What a way to be.
I've done this to myself.