How much can one say about a man with no name but countless aliases? Could they describe him by his childlike imagination, or is grim determination? Could they tell of the locks of hair that twist messily and fall, the ones that are hinted with bronze? Or maybe they could speak of the eyes; eyes that hold the world and all its sympathy, compassion, and desires, but also have room enough for the darker side; the lustfulness, the greed, the murder?

I can't tell you everything about that man. The one with the long overcoat, converse shoes, and a mind that matched his years but not his face, and a face that was ever changing. But I can tell you the story of how those two hearts once gained a third companion, of how his hair once had another set of hands to be ran through, of how his laugh once had a partner to dance with in the air as their owners once danced, and of how my jealousy flared. This is our story, the unspoken version, the one time refused to tell.

I watch from behind glass as his hands caress me. He walks around me, those shoes of his flashing red with every step. He twists and pulls, pushes and turns, knowing exactly what to do. His coat flares out behind him as he finishes his dance. My face is pressed against the glass, straining to kiss the lips of the one I love so dearly. He lays his forehead against the glass and murmurs sweet nothings. His voice raises in pitch and volume as he tells me the story of us. About how he knows I am his and he is mine. The tale weaves into woe as he wishes of a time when we had kissed, touched, and felt each other's embrace. Maybe then my Beautiful Idiot wouldn't be so lonely.

He likens my soul to that of a bird, carrying him and taking him to the strangest places. He tells of how he saw me, standing alone in a field, silhouetted by those two moons, and he knew he had to take me. His hand moves to caress my glass enclosure and his sweet breath fogs the surface. How I ache to take him in my arms and remove his pain! Then the blonde woman, Rose, comes along. She steals his hearts with her laughter and vivacity and dancing, but makes tremendous mistakes and leaves him broken with her carelessness. Her love filled him, made him almost completely whole. My heart desired to be her! I forced her to look deep into my soul, so I could live within her, through her. But her mind was too weak. I had hands at my disposal, but wasn't permitted to use them, to finally touch the man I love so dearly. But I was able to press my lips against his. I flowed within him and was overjoyed. Too soon though, my lovely Doctor died, and a new face, a better face, emerged from his flesh, and again, I was forced to simply watch him fall in love with her again. But she blundered and made countless mistakes and ended up in a rift between two parallel worlds. His hearts broke and my anger flared. I simply left her there! Oh, but if she had only listened to him! He weeps for loss and even I am not able to comfort him as I have done so many companions before.

I weep for my Time Lord. Only, my keening can not be heard as his desperate sobs can be.

As much as she would like to, the last TARDIS of Gallifrey can not weep.