You know, it's funny. I'm not what I'd call a writer. Sure, there's some good stuff to read (Hemingway being one of my favorites: damn could that man drink, too) but life is supposed to be for living, not reading about other lives. Or so I thought, once upon a time.

All that changed. And no, not because of you. Not everything is about you, Doctor. Or it didn't use to be. But ever since I met you, you changed me. You put a spell on me without ever knowing that you did, without me knowing why. But I know now. It's nothing you plan, and nothing you can. It just happens. Just because it's you.

Everything's going to be fine now: you have an idea and are working on it with a fever that borders on insanity. But just a few hours ago I watched you sitting in the dark, curled up in a ball on the floor, rocking back and forth and whispering words I couldn't understand. And my heart broke for you. Martha's did too. I could see it in her eyes. She's fantastic, you know; well, of course you know. You don't pick em' dumb and ugly, do you? And she loves you so much. And you love her. But not like that. Not like a man who would bend her over a chair and bury yourself so deep inside her you thought you'd never get back out, and you didn't care. I think I could love her like that. But I won't get the chance.

Not because of you. You're a tough act to follow but I do have a certain charm. Nah, that's not right, I have a lot of charm. I could sell Hell to the Devil (almost did once, but that's another story). And it bothers you, just a little. I've seen it. Are you that easily threatened that someone is gonna take away your toys? I don't know. There's a lot about you I don't know. Anyway, Martha. No, it's because I know once this is over, I have to go back. Because of me.

It's my life now. Just like all this is yours. And Martha isn't going to want to give this up. I didn't. But I wasn't given a choice at the time. You'll ask me this time, once this is all over. I know that much. What would you do if I said yes? You don't think I will. It would almost be worth it. Almost. But not quite.

I love you. You know that. I always will, despite the fact that I think you were a fucking coward to leave me on the satellite, painful or not. And you can get mad and spout Time Lord gibberish at me all day long but I won't change my mind on that.

But I'm sorry.

I'm sorry we lost Rose. I'm sorry you had to make those choices. I'm sorry this Master guy stole your TARDIS and we have to go get it back and take care of him somehow. I'm sorry that seeing you again now isn't what I hoped it would be. I wanted it to be happy. Not to see you with downcast eyes like a beaten dog. Not seeing you haunted by the loss of all you hold dear.

Still, you have me, and Martha. I hope you can decide in your hearts it's enough.