Dear, Wendy ~

You are so very far away. It's a strange truth for me to think on.

When it’s midnight for me, it’s noon for you.  When I can’t see my shadow, you can see yours.

Often when the sun is shining on you, my world is bathed in moonlight. While you go about your day, I am fast asleep. While you have breakfast, I have dinner.

And the only way to remedy this is to fly.

A very long flight. Across oceans, and mountains, and islands, and jungles. One would have to fly very high to reach such a faraway destination – perhaps in the clouds. But it can be done. My head is in the clouds more often than not, after all. The clouds feel like home.

Why is London so very, very far from Neverland?

Strange, how we met. Completely by chance. The right place at the right time. A serendipity. A happy accident. A missing shadow and fairy dust.

Stranger still, is why we met. Because we both refuse to grow up. We both cling to endeavors of which many adults would say we need let go. We should have let go. Many years since. But we refused.

We both find solace and peace in a venture that is often enjoyed by those much younger than us. And I believe, because of that, we will remain young forever. We’ll never grow up. We’ll always feel the desire to fly away, over the treetops and mountains and...