Post-Matt blues: Ruminations of a forlorn Whovian

Van Gogh inspired fanart. Via Pinterest, click to see the pin.

So I’ve finished Doctor Who and am where everyone else is at, awaiting the rein of Peter Capaldi. My body spasms in tears and the time in between them can extend for days. I cry in quiet little tremors and every tear is like an arrow that leaks through the cracks in my skin and strikes my singular human heart. It is finally sinking in that Matt is not The Doctor on screen anymore. I mean, and we all can agree, that he – like the other magnificent men – will always be The Doctor. Our Doctor.

It bites every time a face is lost to time, if you know what I mean. Matt, oh, Matt. Ugh. I can’t ever say anything proper. I love him unlike any other. The funny thing is that at the beginning, I acknowledged him as the enigmatic Time Lord before I realized he was an actor. I mean that in a good way, and there are some bad ways it could go because I understand that some actors don’t like to be stuck in our minds just as a particular character. Matt, nah. He seems to bathe in every second of it.

I … I just. Oh for the love of custard and fish bits! I’ll spit it out. His Doctor was one who was filled with the pain on the inside but tried to cover it up under this ever fresh coat of happy paint; fresh because he mostly means it. He was the optimist, the best friend (and the son-in-law, hehe), ever the fighter and believer in dreams and bow-ties and fezzes. Matt’s energy and well-spring of vitality always always makes me feel better about myself and this world, more than any of the previous two had. I haven’t emphasized enough on how much of a goof he was but it was so obvious to us Whovians.

via Pinterest, you know the drill: click to see 🙂

I hate to say that I have a favourite actor but I am flawed and mortal. David was uplifting and hilarious and pretty damn scary at times. Christopher was the rock and the waves, when he smiled his whole being lights up and I don’t give a Cyberman’s rusty arse what anybody else thinks, he was a damn good Doctor. Matt was the rainbow that stood upon the solemn colours, the life of the music who can recall the resonance of silence too easily and the smiler of smiles who knew just when to hide a frown.

With Christopher, the time was too short and that was unfortunate. If you’re unsure as to why, look it up, it’s sad enough I feel right this moment. His Doctor is still a significant mystery to me. David, he was skilled at evasion of personal questions and he made up silly words and was into foreign phrases. Somehow with Matt you can really see the sadness there right under the surface with out him even acting it out. You just know it. He’s totally in character and the conflict is etched in fluent lines on his face and the subtle, subtle tilts of his gorgeous limbs.  He was the master evader of close-to-the-hearts-feelings. Don’t get me started when he’s all hyper! He is the cutest thing you ever did see!

“Eccleston was a tiger and Tennant was, well, Tigger. Smith [is] an uncoordinated house cat who pretends that he meant to do that after falling off a piece of furniture.”

– Lynne M. Thomas

The first rule? The Doctor lies. He, yeah, does it even need to be said? To be clear, his Doctor  is so the lier but for the reasons he thought to be of importance (mostly, anyway).

First and last words. Oh, Matt … Click to see original pin, please.

I don’t mind the crying at all. It’s a lightheaded sensation I experience when I think how I am weeping with thousands and thousands of fans across this amazing spherical rock we call home. Thank you so much, Matthew Smith for … for being there, for holding our hands in the dark, for grabbing hold of our hearts and running through time an space with them beating in your lovely hands *ahem* Thank you so so very much, raggedy man.

~~~

Devina, A fanatic with a picture of your bow-tie and sonic screwdriver in her purse.

 

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