Neverland

I convinced myself that I was insane. I was completely and absurdly, insane. There was no lie in that statement, I knew. No substitute for that word. No nothing. It took me awhile to finally realize that my definition of insane was someone else's definition of love. But simply, love is just something I don't believe in. Love is just this watered down version of magic. But saying I don't believe in magic would be an absolute lie. Unlike love, magic is real.

But magic is only real if you believe in it.

And I didn't believe.

Yet, the doors still opened for me.

The day I met Peter was the day I permanently went insane.

-

I thought it was just a mere silhouette.
That was all he was. A whisper in the night, a black shadow where silver was supposed to be. Sometimes I wanted nothing more than to believe that this was just a dream and he was the ultimate dream. He was the dream that I waited for so long. The dream that would lift me off my feet and be my knight in shining armor.

No. He was better than a shadow. A silhouette. A dream.
He was real. More real than the lies that lips tell. It was more real than the stars hanging from invisible strings against the backdrop of midnight paint.

Red tousled hair and mahogany brown eyes. A body that was sketched into perfection that was almost unreal. The outline of his body was visible in the light of the moon. His muscles were peeking out from his bare body. Starchy jeans hung loosely on his abdomen. His beautiful angelic face streaked with dirt stains, his eyes looking inquisitively around the room. And at me.

The silver eyed, brown haired girl.

I didn't scream. Couldn't scream. I was practically speechless. Who was this beautiful god in my bedroom? Who was this Apollo? This beauty who stepped into my world of blunt and bland boredom?

"I'm sorry,” his voice was alluring. Captivating me with every breath he took.

"No, no it's okay,” I assured him, sitting cross-legged in my bed.

"You're so pretty,” he smiled cheekily, and in a flash of lightning he was beside me, his rough callused hands gently stroking the outline of my jawbone. Feeling me. My flesh. My skin. My face.

I felt a flush go down my heart. My soul. Never has words been uttered so sincerely, so truthfully in front of me. Bashfully I nodded and looked deep into those brown eyes of his.

"I scare you, didn't I?" he asked with sensitivity.

"No,” I shook my head.

"I'm Peter,” he took my hand and shook it vigorously.

"Ellen Marie Jayne Nolan,” I whispered back, entertained by his taken aback face.

"Or just Ellie,” I smiled.

"Ellie,” he repeated, feeling the taste of my name on his tongue.

"I love you Ellie,” he smiled cockily.

"Hmm? What?" I felt myself play gently with him.

"Am I not supposed to love?" he looked at me with a face that signified curiosity.

"You don't know me yet, not enough to know that you love me,” I explained to him.

"I want you to know me Ellie,” Peter persisted, his face showing earnestly.

I took a breath as this god let his lips softly passed through mine ever so slightly. His soft lips felt like Heaven against my numb cold ones.

I blinked. He was gone. The sun was seeping in through the cracks of my window. I touched my lips, wondering if the taste of his mouth still lingered on my lips and wondered if he was all but just a dream.

And as immature as it may seem, I was in love with my dream. I was in love with someone who probably only existed in my mind. In the own figment of my imagination.