[oncoming_storms] - Ghosts
[Data Entry 864217.233]
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Everyone carries secrets. Even myself.
They are the tiny, hidden things saved for the quiet moments and dark spaces where none others tread. They are memories long since forgotten or lost or stored away, recalled with an aching loneliness when no one is looking. They are the sum of those things we cannot admit to ourselves, let alone the one we love.
He does not know I have secrets, which I suppose is a secret itself. I have always told him everything, every minute detail of my function, of my thoughts, of my emotions, but I cannot tell him this. I do not know the words with which to tell him.
How does one tell the only man one has ever loved that one also loves another?
It has been so long since I have thought on her, since her name has appeared in my data banks. She has never been a constant, appearing and disappearing at the whim of her master, as I do mine, and so her name was never missed during the long stretches of silence that punctuated each of our encounters. She was simply there when she was to be there, piloted by the machinations of a madman, and I was there to meet her.
It seems absurd that I have loved her, recalling those moments. She was as cruel as her master, an ember that burned as surely as the fire deep inside our Hearts, waiting unseen to bring everything crashing down around me. It ... hurt, knowing her. It hurt to desire her presence. I believe she knew it, as well.
And yet she was as I. Not so old, no, but just as unwanted by those who created us. An anomaly, a renegade. Free.
She hated me, I think. Watching our meetings again, replaying each moment, I believe she was more her master than I wanted to admit. We were the same -- I so desperately wanted to believe that. Two Hearts with the same purpose, the same meaning. I wanted to save her from a madman. I could not admit she had lost her sanity, as well. Perhaps it is because I am more my master than I ever realised.
I wonder if that is why I cannot tell him. In all things, I seek his approval, I seek his affection. But I do not desire his pity. I do not desire that sad and broken look when he speaks with me, knowing that I have loved another in the same fashion as he loves a madman. A madman I despise, the love he engenders even more so.
I do not desire any apologies, because I am not sorry, and neither should he be.
End entry.
Do you want to save? ... y/n
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Do you want to save? ...y/n
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Confirmed. Entry deleted.
Muse: The TARDIS
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 440
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Everyone carries secrets. Even myself.
They are the tiny, hidden things saved for the quiet moments and dark spaces where none others tread. They are memories long since forgotten or lost or stored away, recalled with an aching loneliness when no one is looking. They are the sum of those things we cannot admit to ourselves, let alone the one we love.
He does not know I have secrets, which I suppose is a secret itself. I have always told him everything, every minute detail of my function, of my thoughts, of my emotions, but I cannot tell him this. I do not know the words with which to tell him.
How does one tell the only man one has ever loved that one also loves another?
It has been so long since I have thought on her, since her name has appeared in my data banks. She has never been a constant, appearing and disappearing at the whim of her master, as I do mine, and so her name was never missed during the long stretches of silence that punctuated each of our encounters. She was simply there when she was to be there, piloted by the machinations of a madman, and I was there to meet her.
It seems absurd that I have loved her, recalling those moments. She was as cruel as her master, an ember that burned as surely as the fire deep inside our Hearts, waiting unseen to bring everything crashing down around me. It ... hurt, knowing her. It hurt to desire her presence. I believe she knew it, as well.
And yet she was as I. Not so old, no, but just as unwanted by those who created us. An anomaly, a renegade. Free.
She hated me, I think. Watching our meetings again, replaying each moment, I believe she was more her master than I wanted to admit. We were the same -- I so desperately wanted to believe that. Two Hearts with the same purpose, the same meaning. I wanted to save her from a madman. I could not admit she had lost her sanity, as well. Perhaps it is because I am more my master than I ever realised.
I wonder if that is why I cannot tell him. In all things, I seek his approval, I seek his affection. But I do not desire his pity. I do not desire that sad and broken look when he speaks with me, knowing that I have loved another in the same fashion as he loves a madman. A madman I despise, the love he engenders even more so.
I do not desire any apologies, because I am not sorry, and neither should he be.
End entry.
Do you want to save? ... y/n
...
...
Do you want to save? ...y/n
...
Confirmed. Entry deleted.
Muse: The TARDIS
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 440