Songs I've Sung (I've Missed a Few) (Doctor Who, Rose Tyler, PG)
Fic: Songs I've Sung (I've Missed a Few)
Spoilers: Post-Doomsday
Summary: She keeps on forgetting.
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: A double-shot drabble before I sleep.
*
She keeps on forgetting the middle parts to her favorite songs. It's okay, she sings off-key and trails off at the end and sometimes, her smile falters. Sometimes she laughs.
There are others who finish it for her, who correct her when she doesn't know it's remember not all that ever was, is lost. That doesn't even fit, it doesn't work at all. She sings in the shower and forces words up against notes that sputter, that aren't enough. Not enough space and sometimes, the water’s cold before its time.
She never sings of time.
Singing is like forgetting to breathe and she hums nothing under her breath. There was singing she once said, when the memories were hopelessly muddled. And she'd listened to a lie in confusion and believed it, once. He'd said true things to her and she didn't understand.
Something else must happen. There must be new songs to learn, new words to forget. But she cannot think of when that will be. She cannot sing the word time, much less acknowledge it.
Yet she can always finish the song. She always knows the last words.
Yes, she will never miss out and sings those last words, strong and true.
end
Spoilers: Post-Doomsday
Summary: She keeps on forgetting.
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: A double-shot drabble before I sleep.
*
She keeps on forgetting the middle parts to her favorite songs. It's okay, she sings off-key and trails off at the end and sometimes, her smile falters. Sometimes she laughs.
There are others who finish it for her, who correct her when she doesn't know it's remember not all that ever was, is lost. That doesn't even fit, it doesn't work at all. She sings in the shower and forces words up against notes that sputter, that aren't enough. Not enough space and sometimes, the water’s cold before its time.
She never sings of time.
Singing is like forgetting to breathe and she hums nothing under her breath. There was singing she once said, when the memories were hopelessly muddled. And she'd listened to a lie in confusion and believed it, once. He'd said true things to her and she didn't understand.
Something else must happen. There must be new songs to learn, new words to forget. But she cannot think of when that will be. She cannot sing the word time, much less acknowledge it.
Yet she can always finish the song. She always knows the last words.
Yes, she will never miss out and sings those last words, strong and true.
end