I have no idea about this, because I don't like Martha Jones, bt the idea just sprang up from somewhere in my warped little brain.

Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who.

Martha sighed and put her fingers to her throbbing temples. She was so tired, but she couldn't sleep. She was sat at her dressing table in her bedroom, looking at her tortured face by the piercing glare of the iridescent street light brimming through the window. She wished it were something far more romantic, far more tragic like the moon or a lone star, but she was in the middle of London. There was an ache in her heart that would just not go away, a horrible, dropping feeling which made her feel like she were sinking to the bottom of a never ending ocean of her own tears and agony. This time a week ago she had quit the Tardis and the Doctor, the man she was madly in love with.

Okay, not man. Her first love was a Time Lord, and it sounded so ridiculous she could not help but laugh. She should try writing to one of those advice columns in the teen magazines she used to read. 'Dear Abby, I'm in love with an alien who is over 900 years old and can't die. What's more, he's still in love with the other woman he used to time-travel with, who's stuck in an alternate dimension. What should I do?'

That got her thinking, she thought of the one person who she'd like to talk to, who might just know what she was going through. Martha slowly reached into the bottom draw of her nightstand and rummaged around to find a sheet of paper and a pen. The last time she'd written to anybody was when she was 15 and writing to thank her Great Aunt Ethel for some strange knitted thing. The year after that she'd died, and there was no-one else to thank.

Slowly she put her pen to the paper, biting her bottom lip in apprehension. How did you write to a person you'd never met, but you'd heard so much about?

Dear Rose,

I'm writing a letter that I'll never send, because I don't think our postman delivers to parallel universes. You don't know who I am, but you could say I was your successor, although that sounds like he replaced you, and that's not what happened. I'm sure you know who I'm talking about. How could you not.

I couldn't have replaced if I'd waited a hundred thousand years for him to get over you, because he never would get over you. And I don't think I shall ever get over him. Have you yet? I doubt it.

I used to hate you, hate you because when he looked at me all I could see was him wishing it was you in front of him. The first time I travelled he took me to Elizabethan times to see Shakespeare. We stayed in a room in an inn with one double bed, and he said there was room for both of us as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He has no clue about women sometimes, does he? Anyway, we were lying on the bed and he was trying to work something out, and he said 'Rose would know. If she was here she'd know exactly the right thing to say.' I hated you for that. Since then I constantly felt I had to measure up to you, it was like an ex-girlfriend complex.

I think I stopped hating you when I stopped comparing myself to you. I think I realised that I wasn't you and he was never going to look at me like he must have looked at you, but he did look at me like he looks at me, and that was pretty damn good. But I only realised that as I was leaving.

I thought I'd travel with The Doctor forever, like I suppose you did, but I have my family to look after now. That's what I planned to tell him, that I was doing the dutiful daughter act, all self-sacrifice. I didn't plan on telling him that I needed to get out for me as well, because I was in love with someone who would never, and could never, love me back. But I did, and I'm glad I did. And although I'm not pleased I left, I'm relieved I've given myself a chance at my life. But what is my life now? I don't think I can go back to what I was before, because I'm not who I was before. Him and his TARDIS have changed me somewhere inside myself, and I'm terrified that I won't be like I was before, but I'm terrified I will.

I've cried a thousand times since then, something you'll know about all too well. I never thought I was the type to spend my nights sobbing into a pillow over a man, but I never fell in love before.

Had you? Have you got any advice for me, because right now I think you're the only person who gets what I'm going through. I wish I could speak to you.

Yours Sincerely,

Martha Jones.

I can't really judge how this has turned out, so sorry if your now sitting their thinking 'i'v ejust wasted 5 mns of my day.' If you have, feel free to rant in the reveiws. On the other hand, if you liked it and u hv time to tell me, please do :)