It's Easy
Sure, he's always talking about this and that planet, this species that needs to take a breath only once in their lifetime, that species with their seven genders. How apparently rhubarb pie, one recipe in particular, was the downfall of an alien world in the distant future due to its narcotic effect. Half mad he is, talking about all sorts of things that aren't going to happen for millions of years, never quite sure if he's talking about the past, present, or the future since they're all the same to him.
With the human looking skin it's easy to forget that the Doctor doesn't actually belong on Earth. His human face, the body with its ten toes and ten fingers seem normal enough, until you get close, right up against him, and the double beat of his two hearts give a bit of truth to the lie. It's all just a mask that conceals everything he is, a lie, no, a misdirection, a bland covering to protect the secrets that would crush anything else to bits.
It's easy to forget, until he lets that mask slip, and then his eyes open up and for a split second she can catch a glimpse of what he's got tucked away, something vast and alien, a thing that not even time can fully touch.
The Doctor's lips curl and his knuckles twist, his mask, the puppet of his body mimicking what it is to be human. But the eyes, they are something else, and sometimes even that little glimpse feels like too much, as if she's staring into the Tardis again, the ground slipping beneath her feet as Time burrows deep inside her brain, hollows her out and fills her up with everything that ever was and ever will be.
It's easy to forget that the Doctor isn't human, until he isn't.
With the human looking skin it's easy to forget that the Doctor doesn't actually belong on Earth. His human face, the body with its ten toes and ten fingers seem normal enough, until you get close, right up against him, and the double beat of his two hearts give a bit of truth to the lie. It's all just a mask that conceals everything he is, a lie, no, a misdirection, a bland covering to protect the secrets that would crush anything else to bits.
It's easy to forget, until he lets that mask slip, and then his eyes open up and for a split second she can catch a glimpse of what he's got tucked away, something vast and alien, a thing that not even time can fully touch.
The Doctor's lips curl and his knuckles twist, his mask, the puppet of his body mimicking what it is to be human. But the eyes, they are something else, and sometimes even that little glimpse feels like too much, as if she's staring into the Tardis again, the ground slipping beneath her feet as Time burrows deep inside her brain, hollows her out and fills her up with everything that ever was and ever will be.
It's easy to forget that the Doctor isn't human, until he isn't.