Where is my Doctor?
It’s really hard to say what I didn’t like about this season in general and its ending particularly, but I’ll try, ‘cause it’s even harder to keep it inside.
The Doctor is my imaginary friend, I won’t be surprise to know that he’s everybody’s. It’s like he’s always been there and he’s never ever disappointed me. Nothing to be surprised here either. The point is today he did.
He broke my The-Girl-Who-Waited’s heart and it feels painfully real. Doctor Who always taught me that life is bigger on the inside, that imagination is the most powerful thing in the Universe, that love is all-forgiving. The Doctor was a pacifist and he was brilliant at it. He hated guns and he hated to be soluted. And he could easily fix everything without it. He also taught me that sometimes right decisions are the hardest. That was the man who locked the woman he loved in the other dimension knowing he could neither reach her nor forget. Naive, and brave, and very-very lonely he taught me how to be self-sacrificing and I wouldn’t like to know the world where there is no Doctor.
The Eleventh is funny and eccentric and he calles himself the same, but something’s missing. He hold’s a gun and he’s ok with it. He easily exepts sacrifices from others. He’s keen on surviving and he’s still not ginger. He’s illogical. The man who never stopped, too terrified to dare, got a wife. Just like that, in passing. The freest men ment to marry for great love, but he never said he did. The Eleventh married ‘cause it was useful. It’s like he has grown up and it doesn’t quite suit him.
I open a box today, magical, ancient and so very blue, and for the first time it was exactly the same size inside.
What’s wrong with the Doctor? - This is the question I really want to know the answear to.
