To: The Wildest Lost Boy


God, Peter, it’s been so long. I lost my shadow in such a dark place and it won’t come back. I can’t stitch it to my heels, can’t keep losing myself and being okay like this.

I miss Neverland, miss Indians that don’t adorn sky blue cigarette cartons. I miss flying through clouds that aren’t created from cheap lighters and blunts. I miss fighting pirates that only wanted a battle, a clash of swords and a retreat to think up new plans.

I understand why you avoid growing up. I thought age was just a number, that makeup stains and cartons of smokes were just passing phases. No. This is hard. More than hard.

There are words, Peter, words that don’t mean what you think they do. Words that hurt more than any wooden sword or slingshot. Screaming and shouting, more than any scrappy debate with lost boys over leaders.

And everyone has an agenda. You know pirates. You know what they want; beautiful princesses, treasure, a good battle before heading home.

You know Indians. You know what they want; Freedom, bonfires, shouting to the skies and dancing for their ancestors.

And you know the lost boys. You know what they want; to be young, running around as wild children with slingshots and no rules, no nothing but each other.

Outside of Neverland, everything is different. Each human has their own agenda, their own goals to achieve and their own ends to meet. It’s awful, expecting the worst. Not as a pessimist, but as someone who wants to keep their heart from hurting so much.

I miss flying, Peter, and believing in good things and fairies and safe hideouts with lost boys and mermaids. I’m nostalgic for youth, wasted and somehow eternal past that second star to the right and straight on till morning.

I’m tired. After you left, it seemed like things would work out. But the longer you were gone, the harder it got to even push sheets back in the morning and stand up to face the day. I don’t know why it’s becoming so difficult now.

I’m at the precipice of truly being off in the world, a child stuck in the body of a grown up. Like a nightmare for you lost boys, I’m sure. I don’t think anyone wants to end up like this.

I get glimpses of you sometimes, in between the haze of trying to escape this place. You’ve always said you are waiting for me, between being asleep and truly awake, where dreams are still real and anything is possible. I remember that, try to hang onto it when the sun rises and life pours in through my iPhone screen.

I’m sure we’ll find each other again, although the stars are getting farther and farther away and it is hard to think of the good things to fly again.

You must come back again, to visit and remind me of them. You have always been a true friend, and the wildest of the lost boys (although they may argue until they’re blue in the face).

Thank you for you friendship, and the happiness it has brought me as a child and a grown up.

May we never forget Neverland.


Little Cricket ❤



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