Monday, July 07, 2008


[Image: Billie Piper. David Tennant. Snogging. Best scene of "Doctor Who" - EVER. Doomsday reversed: doing it wrong, but making it right. Crying, now, ain't I just. Poor fangirl.]

My theories. My ramblings. My bittersweet joy.

Sometimes, I think we all need someone, and more than anything; someone who'll go that extra mile, and say exactly what we need to hear. Who'll dare to step up, to any usual, unusual occasion, someone who will say it, dare to speak the words and do what you expected, never hesitate - from more experience than both of you had shared. Sometimes, the only thing we crave is that one thing we've always longed for, what we've been begging for, hoping for; subconsciously or with firm expression, explicitly or in subtle reference. That one gesture. Those three words. To hold one's hand; tight, not letting go. To utter that sentence; in a whisper, or a shout. Furthermore, from time to time, we need for someone just to hold us, care for us, and give us that special touch, to embrace us with all the heart and soul and might that's necessary for us to feel secure. Most often, the world never grants people such a chance. In lives and times of crowded places, tumults, tremor, noises; still, we live and die alone. Despite the company we keep, and all the joy, content, excitement. In spite of all; remaining unfulfilled, the loneliest of beings. But then, once in a while, you're lucky. Once, and just a single once, you may have that chance of utmost happiness. You hear those magic words, expressed by someone perfect, someone who could dare and someone who'll be there; the man who'll stay behind. The one and only, him you thought you'd never see again, and now behold. With all his pain and rage, that's true, yet at the same time all his smiles, and all his softness. More intense and forward, more aggressive. More of passion, less suppression. More of fear. Another, you'll admit, he's not the same. He's got the face, the suit; identical appearance and a laughter none can match. The memories, the instincts. One to recognize. He holds your hand, and gives you that old feel, the tingling down your spine. He's the same; the one who fought, the one who sacrificed; but he's the one who wasn't changed, not further, the one who still could be, and who'll remain. Sometimes, you might need more than just belief; to know instead of thinking that you know, to be assured insetad of feeling almost sure. Sometimes, the second best is nothing short of being better. Because, quite simply, he's the one that's left; the one you're left with; and the only one with whom you possibly could carry out and wander on; with love; the life you always wished for, and with whom you'll lead your life the way you'd always wanted. Out of love, no less.

Rose Tyler, defender of the Earth. Returned to her Alternate Universe, again, but this time she's not on her own. The Doctor must leave her, but not alone; he leaves her to stay along with his alternate self, as suitable as it comes, the one man with whom she can continue the life she once had, and with whom she can experience the same kind of love; with their shared memories, shared sufferings, shared love. And, consequently, the only way in which The Doctor can stay with Rose, for the rest of his life, forever and ever, and be the one she's missed, the very Doctor she's been yearning for, and coming back for. He gives her an "older" part of himself, the part that isn't altered, the part she knows; sculpted in the way he was when they first met, behaving in a similar fashion, from the times they had, the best of times; granting them both a fresh start, and a better alternative, based on these. Admittedly, not the exact same man; it's written on their faces, all of them, how this is bittersweet and never easy; seeing how the outcome must be based on choice, on loss, on consequences. The man is different, and he comes with a price, a call for strong development, and he is hers to change -into somebody known, and something better. Once again. (It's the Christopger Eccelston-version, in a David Tennant-body, but who would oppose.) It's the offer of a lifetime, and instead of refusing, she grabs hold of him and kisses him and he is all hers. The ultimate gift, along with all the sacrificing, and the ultimate gesture - given from someone beloved to someone he loves - and she's the only one it could be done for, she's the one derserving, she's the one whom he might trust to do it. For her to make him into someone she'll always know, and always love, the way he is right now - all thanks to her. That's what he says, she's made him better, and the memories shapes themselves, they're coloured, shifted, brought to rest. They stand in sand, and watch the exits fade away, and they grab hold. Not just because she needs it, because she needs him, but - more than anything - because he desperately needs her. The very essence of The Doctor, her Doctor, is that he needs his Rose. That is the point; he's given her the parts of him, the corners of his hearts, that never would stop needing her, and transferred all into the casket of a human body granted her to savour, to caress and care for. And he's got her; for saving, caring and caressing. They've got each other, and the life they never really thought they'd have, but now can spend together. It's good, it's promising, it's tender, sad, miraculous, it's brilliant, hartbreaking, heartwarming and; should you choose to see it that way; every shipper can relax and cheer!

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