#peterwendy

You miss her. You sit at the top of that hollowed-out tree, wishing. Wishing she'd come back. You didn't know what it meant to love someone before, but now.. it hurts. Usually, when one of the boys is hurt, you take her advice and wrap the wound tenderly in a swath of fabric sprinkled with aloe. You don't think aloe would help in this situation, though. It's your inside that's hurt, not your outside. There's no discernible difference in your looks, but that air of warning is there. You wish you could see her, just one last time before she grows up and leaves silly stories behind. She's probably forgotten all about you, moved on to tell her bedtime stories for someone else. You find yourself hating that specter of a person. You miss her so much, but you can't help but to stay put, staring at the night sky.