You didn’t have to fear and hate it so much. You learn to live with it, you know. Not in a elephant in the room but I’m just going to focus on my bunny kind of way, but more like a television turned down in the background sort of way. It stops bothering you and you move on, sort of—it doesn’t go away, no, but you live with it and even stop thinking about it so much. Staying wouldn’t have been all that bad for you.
The boys came back last week. Guess, they aren’t Lost anymore…I know it’s a good thing but I can’t help but feel sorry for them at the same time—don’t get me wrong, it’s fantastic that they’re back–they have so much awaiting them! But it’s going to hit them hard in the beginning though. They’re good little boys and it’s a pity they’re destined to not. Not. Not…what? I forget. Just not. It’s a terrible thing, old age. Where was I? Oh yes: You never saw it. But I think at that island they finally did themselves. I’m glad.
And I suppose it would be too much to hope that them coming back means you are too…
It’s not so bad here Pete. I barely even notice anymore really. I tried to visit you at the Island, but fairy dust doesn’t work for me nowadays…but I’m no longer bothered by it. It’s a distant hum.
Does the beach still glow? The mermaids haven’t been up to much mischief lately, have they? I wonder why you never wrote back…I waited for your letter, you know—or for you to talk to me in daylight sometime. Ten years. I haven’t been able to stay awake late enough to see your shadow these days—or perhaps it’s stopped visiting altogether? I hope not.
There are times when the hum isn’t as distant as I would like it to be—but I’ve stopped throwing tantrums. I like to think I handle the noise in a more dignified manner now. No one even notices. That’s the thing about permanent fixtures: no one ever notices. It’s mostly a good thing. But it’s also sad sometimes.
Fairy dust doesn’t work for me anymore. Been a while since I’ve had the world literally at my feet. The castles turned out to be ones in the air and the monsters are just that. Monsters. We were supposed to fight our way to glory, remember? Instead you–foolish, perfect little boy you–left me fighting reason.
The wind still rushes through my hair sometimes though and it’s good. Things are good.
Father called for you when he died—isn’t that funny? He wanted to see Corn pop one last time…how long ago was it that he last called you that? He called for you and I had to tell him you weren’t there. Georgie didn’t come to the funeral.
Georgie’s all grown up now. He has two kids. Perfect little brats if you ask me—nothing like how we used to be. But they like my stories, yeah I still have my stories. They love them, all the kids do. They dream of castles and dragons and fairy dust. I’m scared for them sometimes but I don’t want to rob them of it either.
You never got to see what we would become. And neither did I.
Fairy dust and moonlight and off you flew. As once I did long before you…
Give Hook my love.
PS: I really am happy. I know this didn’t make it seem like it, but I am. It’s hard to explain, and I don’t think I understand myself, but I am happy.