It never gets easier
I’m just better at compartmentalizing.
Nights, not so much, but I manage.
I read a lot. I drink wine, not beer, sorry about that.
Sometimes I think about the things we loved.
Some would find this a silly trigger.
But tonight, I thought about Doctor Who.
The new season starts soon.
The new Doctor starts soon.
I know you’d love him.
I can hear your voice in my head
in my heart.
I almost don’t want to watch it.
I felt the same last season.
How do I watch Doctor Who without you?
Who will I text? Who will I call?
I can’t call you.
So, I don’t want to watch.
I want to hide.
I want to burn all of my Neil Gaiman.
Shred my Douglas Adams.
Throw away Ender’s Game.
Incinerate half of my music collection.
(But I will read Ready, Player One over and over until the pages fall out of the book.)
I don’t want to watch Capaldi.
I don’t want to know what he does.
I don’t want to see his Doctor.
How can there be a Doctor without you?
You were my Doctor.
But I will watch.
You would want me to watch.
I will watch and your daughter and I will text.
We will talk about Twelve and how he’s the best Doctor yet
not the best, that was you.
You are my Doctor.
But your daughter and I will talk.
We will say what we loved and what we think will happen.
We will say all of that and more
but we will never say
What it is like to live in a world
without our Doctor.