I left everything behind. The first time was my decision, I was running away. If you had asked me back then, when I knew nothing about the world, I would have told you how relieved I felt escaping from there. I knew it was wrong. I knew the right thing to do was to face my problems. But come on, I was only 15.
The second time, I wasn't running away. I was going back home, except that somehow it wasn't home anymore. "Home is where you feel most alive" people say. But what happens when home is not a place? Maybe for me home was a person or even a group of friends, and maybe being around them was what made me feel alive for the first time.
The ironic part is that all of them were somehow dead; they were depressed. Not like in the movies, romanticized. No, they were really depressed. And what am I like? I'm like a sunshine in the rain, I'm the brightest star in the sky that on its own tries to light up the night, or at least, I used to be. The fact is that even the brightest light loses intensity when it gets used up.
My positivity fed them and slowly changed them into the great people they are now. By that time everything was perfect except for the fact that we were racing against the clock, we had our days together counted. There was already a settled day for my departure.
The day everyone left I felt empty, there was nothing inside me. They all took with them a part of me that I still cannot let go of. But at least I know they won't be apart from each other.
Still together, they are the lost boys of my Neverland and I am Wendy leaving forever to finally grow up. Missing every single one of them while they all miss just one of us. And my Peter, my dear Peter, who was so afraid of growing up that in order to avoid adulthood forgot about his Wendy, except he didn't really forget about her and that's the reason why he can't fly, since there are no happy thoughts surrounding him anymore. He refuses to come and visit my window; it's not like he is able to; after all, what is Peter Pan with his feet on the ground?