You always spoke of Peter, not with your lips
or your adorable lisp from the gap in your teeth,
but with your almond eyes; with every glance
at the window as if you heard him tap on the glass.
And like a ghost,
he clung to every moment we shared.
Since that day at my parents’ party, where I first saw you
in that bright yellow dress, you’ve been all I could see,
but I knew you saw much more than just me.
As children, the adventures in your books came to life
in our missions to rescue fairies,
our hunts to slay fearsome beasts,
and our sword fights against pirates for discovered treasure.
Your living room was our Neverland.
But he created something back in Kensington garden.
The little girl he met was not the same one he left,
your innocence corrupted by wild imagination.
He touched you in a way I never could.
He was never there, yet he always was,
with his nose pressed against the glass
as he watched me kiss
you through the window.
Sydney Campbell recently graduated with a BFA in Creative Writing. She loves reading fairytales and contemporary fantasy in her spare time. This is her first publication.
Artwork: Frank Bramley, When the blue evening slowly falls, 1909