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Dear Doctor,
I have no choice but to simply, wholeheartedly hope this letter reaches you across time and space. There is no rush, since I know you'll still travel through every inch of the universe while I'll be long gone.
It has been sixty-two years since we parted ways at Bad Wolf Bay - for me at least. For you, it might as well have been centuries. Maybe this letter will never reach your hands, but since fate has played us so ill, I can ask it for the one small favour of delivering this to you, don't you think?
I sincerely hope whatever happened between that day and the day you read this has been bliss, and that you, although our paths separated so violently, are doing what you do best: having a blast while holding the universe at stake.
Please know that I, although so very angry and devastated at first, came to understand why you left me. You gave me the chance to live a life without pain, to grow fond again of the life I was born into and settle down. I did, eventually.
It took quite a while before it stopped hurting to look into your twin's eyes. At first, I flinched every time his hand touched my skin. It shattered whatever was left of me even further, while all he ever tried to do was ease the pain he couldn't quite understand. For all he knew, he was you, yet I told him he wasn't. He shared your memories, your feelings, your face. But it was you I made those memories with, whose skin touched mine, whose face and mind I fell so deeply in love with. It was too much for my little human brain to understand the grief I felt despite seeing your face every day.
He was so afraid to hurt me. I mostly tried to avoid his presence (difficult enough since we shared my one-bedroom apartment, where he inhabited the sofa) while sorting out my head and terrorising Torchwood in an attempt to find a solution for our tiny little “different dimensions” problem. (They never did.)
After a while, I saw the spark in his eyes begin to dim. I watched him desperately trying to be you more perfectly than you ever were. One day, I snapped. I sat him down next to me on the couch and we had a very long conversation full of tears (mostly mine), emotional outbursts (mostly Donna's fragments, I reckon), and lots of reassurance (mostly his, surprisingly). I asked him to be his own person, to stop trying to live up to your shadow just to please me. And so he did. He chose a human name: David. He frequently wore (hideous) denim jeans. He actually grew fond of drinking afternoon tea with mom.
As soon as he stopped trying to convince me how good he was at impersonating you, and as soon as I began to notice the differences, I was able to open my heart to the man he became. How could I not? He was mostly you, after all and you are the most extraordinary man I ever had the honour of stumbling across. In addition, my dear Doctor, he was utterly smitten with me and never tired of showing it. One day, I burst into tears when he mentioned (and this will forever be burned into my heart) that your love for me was so deep, so fundamental, that it had been etched into his every cell in the moment he was created. He said it very casually while frying some eggs for the first time. Let's just say he completely abandoned those eggs while trying to figure out why I was crying so badly. (He never learned to fry eggs.)
He really was wonderful in every way - comforting, reassuring, witty, smart, and exceptionally annoying. About twice a day he complained about his limited human brain capacity, but I have the feeling he wasted most of it trying to memorise every little detail about me. I couldn't help but fall in love.
One night there was a huge storm. He took my hand and dragged me out into the rain. We were soaked within seconds, but we ran further until we were both panting. I hadn't laughed like that in months. I kissed him then and there for the first time after…you know. And there we stood, snogging while dripping wet in the middle of a flooded street until an angry cab driver honked us out of the way.
Once I overcame my pain, we bloomed. We built us a wonderful life. He, unlike you, was surprisingly okay with having doors and a mortgage. Being stuck wasn't so bad, after all. It was lovely, actually.
We got married eventually, just in time before my belly was too big to fit into a dress. We couldn't know if it would ever work, but we were over the moon to learn that it did. We welcomed our beautiful daughter, Mia, into our lives. Mum and Dad were smitten, and so were David and I. I think you would have loved her too. One of the first words she learned was “Why?”.
I will not forget you, though, not after all those years, and not during my remaining days. You're the man who showed me the stars, who always believed in me, who raised me up to my full potential. And who loved me enough to do what's best for me. You were right, after all.
Over time, my grief changed. I no longer pitied myself for losing you. I mourned you for being alone again. You most likely weren't alone - you must have met thousands of people - but I often wonder whether you finally met someone who could match your lifespan… someone who could be your forever. You giving me a copy of yourself to build a life with must be the most selfless, tragically romantic gesture the universes have ever seen. I only wish I could have done the same for you. It was quite naïve of me to think I could make you happy, but you have to forgive me - our silly little brains can be a little idealistic when we're in love, you know?
I hope you are happy, Doctor. I truly do. You deserve it more than anyone.
I'm eighty-three now, and I've made a whole lifetime full of wonderful memories, although David and I never left planet Earth again. Our adventures were more of an… ordinary sort, you might say, but no less important. Now, as my hands are shaky, my voice raspy, and my joints sore, I can confidently say that I lived my life to the fullest.
Six weeks ago, I held David's hand for his final journey. He had to face the most human disease there is: cancer. Without the ability to regenerate - neither partly nor fully - a tiny faulty cell grew into a catastrophe. He died peacefully in the loving arms of his family with that smug, crooked grin on his face that made him look so very young again. It reminded me of you. And for a moment, I hated you again for making me love someone who could die. At the same time, I finally understood what you tried to tell me so many years ago.
Although I yearn for him every day, I find peace in the knowledge that our souls will find their way to one another again very soon. And as my body dissolves, there will be more and more fragments of me left to be found. Little time petals, scattered through time and space.
The universe might be big, but we always did have a talent for finding each other - so we will once more.
Someday.
Somewhere.
Until then, farewell, my Doctor. I was, and will always be, yours - throughout all eternity, every universe, and every possibility.
And if this is my last chance to say it: I love you.
Rose Tyler