"Even so, it can't happen like this. After everything we've been through, Doctor. Everything. You can't just drop me off at my house and say goodbye like we shared a cab." ()
I’ll be a story in your head. But that’s OK. We’re all stories in the end.
“The worship manifests in the attention you pay her. You watch so closely: you notice every tick and flinch and smug smile that vanishes in an instant.
You consider the freckles. You consider placing each one under a microscope and conducting a seminar on its individual merits. You consider mapping them like the constellations and waiting to see which ones you can spot at night.
You consider wrinkled noses at alien smells, and limbs like skyscrapers in a marble city. You consider the artfulness of curves. Elbows, eyelashes, fingertips—you itemize. After you’ve been absorbed in the details, you step back and remember the whole, and you consider that.”
Constellations and microscopes, by the wonderful Anne
Doctor. The word for healer and wise man… What might that word become?