I am walking through the park. And then I see her sitting on a bench. She is watching two small children play from across the lawn. She does not see me. I stop where I am.
I do not know what to do. Should I approach her? I stand and admire her from afar.
Rose. My Rose. Lovely Rose Tyler, the one who holds my heart in her hands. She holds it though, not tenderly, not with love, but with a tight fist. She is digging her nails into it. She is crushing me, but will not let go.
I am him; I am the one who she loves. But she does not see me, does not pay any attention. She is so caught up in him.
Him, yet me. Both the exact same person, but in two different bodies. Me with simply one less heart.
Maybe that is what she sees wrong with me; I only have one heart to give her, while he has two. I wish that I could rip mine in half, regenerate it, give both to her. But yet, who am I trying to fool? I am not the one tearing up my heart; she is. Every time I look at her, every time I think of her, every memory of her that comes to me in my dreams, rips my heart into even more pieces.
I want to hate her, I long for that hate. Yet I feel her pain. Beautiful Rose, sweet Rose. My poor, broken angel.