I always thought it was brave of Wendy,  to love a boy who refused to grow. To get caught up in his wonderlust, to fly and mock the crow.

She let him sweep her off her feet, with dust that shined so bright. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and they fled into the night.

Love is a curse in Neverland, unbroken by gypsy magic of old. Peter has a reputation though, tales among the campfire told.

The crocodile turned its clock back, to synchronize with Wendy's furious cries. The lost boys lined up with tissues, to sob their last goodbyes.

Maybe Wendy fell apart when she returned home, emotion finally giving to tears. Only in dreams will she remember him now, as her Neverland disappears.