If my hands could magically heal every cut and bruise sprinkled on your body, I would give you all my life's energy. But it's your clumsiness that gives you your stories that are always told to me with your boyish grin. And I absolutely love your up-to-no-good smiles. Every moment with you is a journey to the second on the right and straight until morning.
You are Peter Pan to my Wendy Darling and I always worry that I'm too Wendy Darling to your Peter Pan. Will my seriousness chase you into hiding? Your fears of adulthood is too real and mainland for the both of us to find solutions to. What is a university degree worth if nowadays everyone has one and that means a no longer guaranteed employment? How are we to feed our always unsatisfied hunger? Or our lust for beautiful things? I wish we could stay in your hideout forever and only emerge to waltz with the pixies.
If my hands let you go, would you be happier being able to chase "Indians" and fight pirates than spending afternoons napping in bed with me?
