Peter Pan is in love.
To normal people, this means we no longer need each other. He goes one way with his Grace Kelly Barbie doll bride, and I go mine, into the arms of Jack—until that, too, blows up in my face. But to us, there is no option. He is the brother I never had.
This is a joyful thing, people. I've never seen him like this. She makes him happier than he has been in five plus years. They understand each other on a skin level, from a pheromonal I-need-you place. They talk wedding rings and babies and hallelujah everafter. They are everything together he and I could never have been. And I am thrilled for them. She and I even get along. She gets it. Jack gets it. We've all of us had meals together. The obvious is . . . obvious.
Trouble is, it's not so obvious to anybody else.
But, people, please. We don't just alight in people's lives never to be seen or heard again. We make indents and imprints and are wholly and completely changed. Because of Peter, I am who I am: stupid, blind in love with Jack, embarking on a grad school dream. Because of Peter, I'm (only 708 miles away from him, and not 4000) in the South of France, with people I would lie in traffic for. We may not be blood related, but I've always been the kind of girl to choose her family, and I chose them—a long time ago. They're in the queue. They're on the prayer list (sorry, y'all, I've been reading The Help). And Peter has his faults, don't get me wrong, but so have I.
It makes me sorry for the people who see love in black and white. In yes and no. In no or always. We are no and always, damnit.
Stop telling him to grow up and do it your damn self.
To normal people, this means we no longer need each other. He goes one way with his Grace Kelly Barbie doll bride, and I go mine, into the arms of Jack—until that, too, blows up in my face. But to us, there is no option. He is the brother I never had.
This is a joyful thing, people. I've never seen him like this. She makes him happier than he has been in five plus years. They understand each other on a skin level, from a pheromonal I-need-you place. They talk wedding rings and babies and hallelujah everafter. They are everything together he and I could never have been. And I am thrilled for them. She and I even get along. She gets it. Jack gets it. We've all of us had meals together. The obvious is . . . obvious.
Trouble is, it's not so obvious to anybody else.
But, people, please. We don't just alight in people's lives never to be seen or heard again. We make indents and imprints and are wholly and completely changed. Because of Peter, I am who I am: stupid, blind in love with Jack, embarking on a grad school dream. Because of Peter, I'm (only 708 miles away from him, and not 4000) in the South of France, with people I would lie in traffic for. We may not be blood related, but I've always been the kind of girl to choose her family, and I chose them—a long time ago. They're in the queue. They're on the prayer list (sorry, y'all, I've been reading The Help). And Peter has his faults, don't get me wrong, but so have I.
It makes me sorry for the people who see love in black and white. In yes and no. In no or always. We are no and always, damnit.
Stop telling him to grow up and do it your damn self.
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1 comment:
You shouldn't just let Peter Pan go like all those quote normal unquote people say. He is the one whose "never-never-land" state got you where you are today, and it would not be a wise decision to just toss that aside. Roses and tangos notwithstanding, a bohemian romance cannot give you everything, especially not with the crazy rents in this town! You need to take care of yourself. Don't deprive yourself of everything that's sweet in life just because you get the suspicious look from a few old fashioned jealous misanthropes. All you want is at your fingertips, you've just got to reach out and grab it. You go, girl! It's all yours!!!!
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