The Queen Lived
You'd go mad, like Caan, if they asked you to do what Rose did, and step across the Void. You'd touched too much of the world. You couldn't be allowed to remember it. We can never remember it. Every one of us has touched that, and every one of us has forgotten it. And the hole that it leaves is the song that we share.
The definition of madness is the inability to filter out the false from the true. But everything's true, given enough time and space: that's the difference between us and them. That filter is a biological necessity. If we knew everything there is to know, we'd die. The fact is, we do. Our bodies know better: they call it dreaming, and they force us awake. Stay there and become mad, become chimerical, abominable, something that cannot exist. The secret marriage cannot go on indefinitely: permanent direct contact with the divine is another definition of madness.
Nobody wants Donna Noble for an ex-wife! Give us peace.
These are just stories. I'm sitting here in my army man pajama pants wondering if you're even going to read this, or if you'll even care, or understand what I'm trying to tell you with these stories. Because I love you, and I know that wherever you are, you could be doing better. You could leave the Library. You could be living.
I just wanted you to imagine that you met a man, the most wonderful man in the world, and that he showed you the stars, wonders and terrible things, all the majesty our world can muster. All the kindness and the brilliance and the bravery that lies in you. That he, among all of us, was capable of teaching you how wonderful you are, every second of the day. That you have a better choice than to turn right, or left. Look up at the stars, or laugh. Or jump.
I want you to imagine that you were chosen, of all the women and men in the world, to go on a wonderful adventure. Because of who you are, and what you can become.
And then I want you to forget that he never existed. In story school they teach you a very simple thing. First there are facts: "The King Died." Then, there are plots: "The King Died, The Queen Died." And then there are stories: "The King Died, The Queen Died Of Grief." But this isn't a story, it's your life. That's not how it works in the real world.
Dear Donna, the real world sucks. The world is wrong. So fix it. The Queen Lived.