Wendy watched him with wonder. This boy turned man, who in all his life, steadfastly refused to grow up, well, he quietly sat at their kitchen table eating waffles. She smiled.
Peter once played with his boyhood friends in a place far ago. He flew with the stars, unashamed and proud. He sang of life and passion in his songs of life. He resolutely refused to accept the fear that changes us when we grow up. And she adored that. Childish habits of innocence and naivety had given way to responsibility and for Peter, that was perfectly acceptable.
With Wendy, he had learned of a responsibility that honored the innocence, an attitude that invited understanding, and a way of being that celebrated the boy in the man. Their bodies were traveled, but their spirit was fresh. The intensity of their passion remained innocent and true.
Peter came up behind her as she stared out the sun lit window and hugged her softly from behind. She touched his arms and sighed in happiness. This was no simple fairy tale. This was no lost boy. This was Peter.
And he was her man,
