So there's a second; there's a moment, in time, one for all of them. It's that second, that moment, when you realise that you're on a ball of rock hurtling around the sun at a velocity too fast to even comprehend; it's the realisation that if you let go, if you stop clinging to the skin of the tiny little world you've always known as everything, you might just fall.
Rose had one. Good God, did she have one. The Earth, outside the windows, swallowed by the sun and turned to molten slag. Everything, gone in an instant. I don't think she stopped falling, not until she landed on that beach in Norway.
Martha had one, too, when she looked out the windows and it was night, and there in the distance was Florida. And Martha, of course, didn't stop falling until she grabbed a hold of herself and learnt how to fly.
Donna… well, hers was more subtle. It was back from Egypt, all sand and guide books and don't drink the water, and then nothing. Then she was falling, lost Lance, lost the Doctor, lost her job. I don't think she stopped falling; I don't think she ever wanted to.
The others, too, the smaller ones; Adelaide, Christina, Elton Pope and LINDA with an 'I', Lynda with a 'Y', Chloe Webber and Ida Scott and River Song and the army of people who saw a God.
They fell; some landed, some flew.
And that's what I see, on the hillside. I see that moment. Hand in hand, or side by side, the hand to hold you always said we always needed. When you took Rose's hand outside the estate, Martha's in Royal Hope, when you gave Donna your ring. When you gave them that little shove they needed, that little shove to make them realise that they could fall, that they should. That made them realise that the fall was the fun, or made them realise they could fly.
Doctor, is that what Amy is?
Is she the hand to hold? Is she the friend to lie beside on the grass and watch the night sky? Is she the one you can shove, really shove, and fall alongside? Is she the one you needed?
Why am I bothering to even ask you?
You already know it; we all do. It doesn't matter if she's the one, what matters is that she's there.
"Trust me," you said, but don't you always?
"What?" she demanded (do you hear your own voice in hers? Think, Titanic), "Why?!"
Then you can shove her, Doctor, because that's the question we always have to ask before we can be shoved. Shove her, watch her fall, spin away into forever, and then spin right back into your arms. Into your hands.
"Where do you want to start?"
Oh, god. Everywhere.