(no subject)
She wonders, sometimes, about what he’s doing. If he’s traveling alone or if he has a new companion. (She thinks she doesn’t mind, but maybe she does)
Life is good, at least as good as their lives can be. She’s happy for the first time in a long time, and it isn’t easy and it isn’t perfect, but it’s so much more than she’d thought.
It was a new beginning, and when she looks at the stars her mind doesn’t (always) fill with the end of everything and hurryhurryhurryfixit, but instead the time her Doctor planned a moonlit picnic that went wrong and right in the best ways.
She’s happy, she firmly tells herself (and everyone else), and it’s true. You can be happy when the universe is constantly reminding you of the life that hasn’t been yours in a long time. As much as those moments hurt, she cherishes them, because she knows she’ll forget details and words and maybe these days will bring them back.
(Zeppelins make her think of barrage balloons and rope burn and nanogenes, and white walls give rise to a sense of urgency and loss)
It’s been five years when she realizes she’d forgotten about royal werewolves and the year that was just a few days for her.
The Doctor reminds her of him every day (she knows there are some things that will never be forgotten) and the ache has dulled as the memories turn from bittersweet to happy.
She never reads Little Red Riding Hood, because some days the wolf is so close she can touch it.
(Maybe in his universe, he still thinks about the girl who swallowed time. She hopes he does)
Rose Tyler is happy, and even when she isn’t, she smiles, because she learned more than just history from the Doctor.
Life is good, at least as good as their lives can be. She’s happy for the first time in a long time, and it isn’t easy and it isn’t perfect, but it’s so much more than she’d thought.
It was a new beginning, and when she looks at the stars her mind doesn’t (always) fill with the end of everything and hurryhurryhurryfixit, but instead the time her Doctor planned a moonlit picnic that went wrong and right in the best ways.
She’s happy, she firmly tells herself (and everyone else), and it’s true. You can be happy when the universe is constantly reminding you of the life that hasn’t been yours in a long time. As much as those moments hurt, she cherishes them, because she knows she’ll forget details and words and maybe these days will bring them back.
(Zeppelins make her think of barrage balloons and rope burn and nanogenes, and white walls give rise to a sense of urgency and loss)
It’s been five years when she realizes she’d forgotten about royal werewolves and the year that was just a few days for her.
The Doctor reminds her of him every day (she knows there are some things that will never be forgotten) and the ache has dulled as the memories turn from bittersweet to happy.
She never reads Little Red Riding Hood, because some days the wolf is so close she can touch it.
(Maybe in his universe, he still thinks about the girl who swallowed time. She hopes he does)
Rose Tyler is happy, and even when she isn’t, she smiles, because she learned more than just history from the Doctor.