I’m a child screaming ‘it’s not fair’
at the wall a stranger kicked my ball over.
Our ball over.
Or, are you the ball?
I’ve not figured that part out yet.
We are Rose and the Doctor,
we’re in Torchwood,
I’m crying, I think you are too,
we’re hoping that our hands
have mapped onto each other.
Hoping got us here in the first place,
hoping got us stranded.
We’re a final phonecall,
where the battery died before
I could finish my last sentence.
I tried to say I love you,
it sounded like I loathe you.
I’m deciding which fits best.
-Alex W. (3 first drafts for August)