For as long as I can remember, I have hated Wendy Darling. That powder blue nightgown was never a good clothing choice for the woods, she was always unhelpful in situations, a damsel needing a rescue, and at the end of the movie, she left him. She left Peter Pan. As I grew up, I never understood how she could walk away from an eternal and joyful love. She would have made him happy beyond belief, he would have made sure every day was a new adventure. And then I met my own Pan. He was perfect for me and I only let myself see the good qualities for a while. He was the person who drew me out of my comfort zone, the one that knew everything about me (secrets and what I was thinking), and the only human being I was perfectly comfortable with. I could see it clearly: a future together with him. But as I changed over the span of time we were together, he didn’t. He told me it was because he already knew who he was. So did I. He was childish and stubborn, not willing to grow up with me, or to make our “pretend” something real. That’s when I understood. I hated Wendy because I was Wendy. It was so hard walking away, but I knew nothing would ever change. He would never change. Not even for me. I loved him, I truly did. I will never forget him… maybe someday I will tell the stories of our adventures. But I had to grow up. I had to come back to the windowsill of reality, leaving it all behind. Now I have the utmost respect for Wendy Darling. She made it look easy; everything was over in less than two hours. It feels like it will never be over. Will the guilt in the pit of my stomach ever go away? It doesn’t feel like it. But it was necessary. As much as I like to think so, I can’t act like a child forever. I had to grow up. I had to leave Peter Pan.
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