You’re Amy Pond and you’re floating in space, anchored by five fingers and nothing more.
You have no fear whatsoever that the Doctor will let go of you, and you don’t think your fearlessness is odd. You’re not afraid of anything when you’re with the Doctor, and you’re certainly not afraid of him.
You’re weightless and worriless. Heedless. Everything that has ever gone wrong in your life is null and void now, erased by this moment.
Your heart swells and you’re suddenly sentimental and you hope you’ll someday be able to repay the Doctor this.
(You’re already doing so, though you cannot possibly know that. Your giggles and your fanned-out hair and the awe you’re broadcasting on every channel are not lost on the Doctor. He’s happy when you’re happy. He is new again and he is painless and restless and careless and he is very old and quite young and very much alive and loving it.)