The Answer
It was never a simple question – how do you choose? The Doctor hated the very idea of having to choose (which was a normal part of being able to travel in time). And the broken, sad, hopeless voice of that old man crashing through his ears like waves of those untamed skies, rolling inside him like a tsunami, destroying all the barriers he worked so hard to keep.
He was an old man himself, even if he was always a new man. He lived too much, he saw too much. He had seem everything in life, death and every range between both. He was, as Kazran, always halfway out of the dark, scared of falling back in.
The last day with your beloved, he kept on asking. How do you choose?
It wasn't a simple question for anyone. But it was even worse for The Doctor, for he had been in that position for too many times before, and still could never find an answer.
He had his own ghosts.