17 February IT/12 February HT
Dear Jack,
I've had this notebook for about two weeks now. Had this idea even longer, and I don't know why I'm only just now able to sit down and do anything about it. I talked to a girl today about it, and maybe that was the extra nudge I needed, I don't know.
I don't even know where to begin.
I'm on an island, and I've been here about two and a half months now. I want to come home, but I reckon I'm coping alright. I miss you. There's so much to say, so much to tell you.
You're here, but it's a different version of you, from before Torchwood, and you didn't know me at all when I first arrived. I think of everything I've been through here, that's been the hardest. Things have been a bit better, lately, but it's still not the same. I miss our talks, and how well you know me.
The Doctor's here, and we usually get on alright. Had a bit of a run-in the other day and I hit him, but even now I think he probably deserved it. I always wonder what you'd think of me, when I do these things, whether you'd be pleased or disappointed. I don't know what to think of him, Jack. I can't make myself be in awe of him like you, like everyone else. I like him quite a lot, but he frustrates me. You're probably laughing now, wondering what I expected. Just enough respect that I could prove myself on my own merit, I suppose. Not be penalized for things done by someone else in some other time and place.
It does make me wonder, Jack, whether you were thinking of her when you hired me. I want to hope not, but I think that's probably just naive. It's completely selfish of me, but I think I hate her, a little. I don't want to be a replacement, I just want to be me.
I know about everything that happened, with Abaddon, and the rift, and I
I miss you so much. It hurts. It's so stupid, but I keep waiting for you to come and save me.
I'll try to write again soon.
Love,
Gwen
I've had this notebook for about two weeks now. Had this idea even longer, and I don't know why I'm only just now able to sit down and do anything about it. I talked to a girl today about it, and maybe that was the extra nudge I needed, I don't know.
I don't even know where to begin.
I'm on an island, and I've been here about two and a half months now. I want to come home, but I reckon I'm coping alright. I miss you. There's so much to say, so much to tell you.
You're here, but it's a different version of you, from before Torchwood, and you didn't know me at all when I first arrived. I think of everything I've been through here, that's been the hardest. Things have been a bit better, lately, but it's still not the same. I miss our talks, and how well you know me.
The Doctor's here, and we usually get on alright. Had a bit of a run-in the other day and I hit him, but even now I think he probably deserved it. I always wonder what you'd think of me, when I do these things, whether you'd be pleased or disappointed. I don't know what to think of him, Jack. I can't make myself be in awe of him like you, like everyone else. I like him quite a lot, but he frustrates me. You're probably laughing now, wondering what I expected. Just enough respect that I could prove myself on my own merit, I suppose. Not be penalized for things done by someone else in some other time and place.
It does make me wonder, Jack, whether you were thinking of her when you hired me. I want to hope not, but I think that's probably just naive. It's completely selfish of me, but I think I hate her, a little. I don't want to be a replacement, I just want to be me.
I know about everything that happened, with Abaddon, and the rift, and I
I miss you so much. It hurts. It's so stupid, but I keep waiting for you to come and save me.
I'll try to write again soon.
Love,
Gwen