Is the reason
it hurts so much to write
the story I wish to set free
is because I lost myself
or is it that I lost the drive
to dig deep and find the characters
and just prefer
to stay suspended
in just reading around
instead of the dips and strokes?

Time is at our command
We walk the same earth
and yet record it very different
Time moves by us indifferently
Yours moving away
Mine moving towards
Both finally meeting
for that single moment

A moment that changed the past
A moment that changed the future
A moment that changed time
Forever you will be intertwined in my mine
A blink in yours

Oh the troubles
with being a Timelord's wife
A promise for ever lasting
a secret only one knows
memories that will fade
but the words in gold

the words in ink
done by the hand of a Timelord
done with pain and sorrow
done with joy and excitement
done for Time itself

so the event could be recorded
like everything else
oh the dilemma of being a Timelords wife

loving one soul
one tiny crazy piece of insanity
and accepting
that your time of joy and excitement together
has run its course
And further apart you will go
on your own timelines once more

Slowly
Everything has been slow
except a gifted mind
and now
everything is moving like a bullet train
How I keep up
is a mystery in its own
But slowly
just like a snail
everything is falling into place
the right place
and the correct clicks are heard
This tower that has been shaky
has now the base I needed
to launch
and hope I can strap in
and hold on as it takes off