When I Was Wendy

My Peter Pan was just a boy with a handsome yet childish face, constantly blushing. He bore the name of a man, but preferred his childhood name, a name much more suitable to his face. He was immature and selfish, as most boys his age are. Yet the framework of a man was hidden just below his surface.
He did not come in through my window and beg me to fly away with him. However, our chance meeting quickly became something magical and the days we spent together were surreal if nothing else. In his presence I felt the need to be childlike, just wanting to find any reason to have to touch him. I left my reality and became a girl again.
One evening I went to him. I felt his heart beating beneath my palm and heard his breath quicken. I was surprised to find that I made him nervous. And so I let down my barriers and I loved him. I held him in my arms, ran my fingers through his hair and traced his body with my fingers. We went as far as children will go. Physically we were capable of more. There was just too much holding us back.
The next day we said good-bye. It was the last I ever saw or heard from him. I returned to my world in order to grow up. During the day I am too preoccupied with all day life to let thoughts of him dislodge me. At night though, I often find myself returning to him and the memory of that last night.