Humans. For as long as I can remember, they have been a constant reminder of mortality and yet unyielding strength, ignorance of the world but an incredible wisdom of the heart, frailty in their form but indomitably perseverant nonetheless. These creatures, merely eggs in the scheme of the universe are not without sin. I have also experienced the monsters they can become given the right individual under the right circumstances. They can be barbaric and calculatingly malevolent, prejudiced and unforgiving, greedy and petty. I have seen a man jump at the chance to see his neighbor perish for his own gain.
But in my travels, I have seen that those described in the latter make up only a small percentage of the whole. When backed into a corner, I have seen the whole lot of them willing to do unthinkable things but with proper guidance they are generally swayed to the right path. Who can blame them? These traits are not only human, I've seen them in lords, gods, aliens and beasts alike. But I've lost myself for a moment.
Why humans? All of time and space and I am drawn to Earth and humans time and time again, their caretaker, their defender. Arguably, I take it upon myself to interfere wherever I can to prevent the darker side of things from prevailing over the good but I've always tended a little more attention to the humans.
They're made in our likeness, you know. The time lords, that is. But only one heart. Maybe that makes them better; we're stifled with indecision, chasing after the advice of two warring hearts while they are led only by one. We see all sides of a situation, the bigger picture but they are led by a single impulse, as it were. A 50% chance of being led in the wrong direction but at least they are moving.
The life of a human passes in a blink. The whole of who they are playing out in what feels like seconds to me and let me tell you, the sum of all their days are absolutely beautiful. The human experience playing out before me like one of those earthly flip books. Every once in a while, I pick someone up, check out an encyclopedia of someone's life as it were. But eventually, we separate and the dust settles where they once stood and I am by myself again.
There are parts of you that can die over and over. The physical you can die but once, well… twelve times if you're me but who's counting? Even so, it is still death in it's purest form. The finality isn't lost on me despite the frequency with which I've done it. Each time feels like the last time, each regeneration more painful and jarring as another part of me burns to make room for another. A new man stands fresh in a dead man's wardrobe, Everything feels new, every sensation, every birth while the memories of my past lives compartmentalize to make room for a new me. I don't forget anything, it's all there tucked behind knowledge of this and that and faces of ghosts long gone, but things just seem to get dimmer.
Imagine a long hallway spilling off from one door, the first. In traveling the length of this magnificent hallway, a door appears for each of my reincarnations but there is only one light source and it is right above me, wherever I stand in my life. The further I get from the first door, the dimmer the light cast upon it. I can still work out my grand daughter's face and hear her bright voice echoing off the walls of the TARDIS. But every now and then, the details might work themselves apart.
A human knows this phenomenon all too well. Desperately holding onto one another, even after someone has gone. The part that knows them dies and the memory decays and degrades, it's accuracy ultimately failing until it becomes a peripheral inkling just as you doze off to bed. The part of you that loves can die over and over again. Love is not limited; rather, you feel each and every goodbye like a bulldozer smashing against your ribcage. Yet, with time, you manage to pull what pieces are left back together, just in time to meet someone else meaningful and important to you. The cycle repeats, slowly wearing down your willingness to participate much like the persistence of water can run down rock. The pieces left become sparser, harder to find intact. Your strong resolve is nothing to Love.
But they are worth it. I've left some behind, some have left me, some moved on, some fell in love and some of them have even died. But they are worth the painful goodbyes, the pain at all. I've a lump bigger than most planets in the back of my throat from all of the goodbyes.
Almost every shadow cast on my doorstep has carved it's own niche in my hearts for they have saved me. In them I have found redemption, though I may sometimes out of necessity fall, they have put me back together. I've learned more from them than I could even begin to explain. They are remarkably extraordinary and yet they've wrenched their way into both of my hearts.