Dear Mr. Pan,

Nevermind. You probably hate being called “Mr.”

Dearest Peter,

I believe you may have forgotten about our previous engagement. You see, we had discussed you coming to take me to Neverland before my 18th birthday, yet, here I am, 18 and not in Neverland.

I am not ready to grow up, and I don’t think I ever will be.

I’ve already had too many lasts this year and I am terrified at the thought of the last days at home. Of course, on some days I’ve almost talked myself into being ready to leave, but most days leave me shaking under the covers trying to imagine myself out on my own.

I’ve always wanted to be a Lost Girl in Neverland, and I’d love to meet the mermaids (I wouldn’t even mind if they tried to drown me, I know how to swim).

I’d be more than willing to go back to elementary school and stay there indefinitely.

Please bring me back to the days when who would or wouldn’t play with you at recess was the most pressing concern of the day.

Take me to the days of Harry Potter and Junie B. Jones, before I’d discovered Sylvia Plath and Edgar Allan Poe.

Or just take me to Neverland. Captain Hook is a much more exciting antagonist than the uncertainty of college and beyond, and the ticking clock of the alligator is much less terrifying than the ticking clock towards graduation.

Please, Peter, do me a solid and get me some pixie dust, because as far as I know, I won’t be getting anywhere near the second star to the right without it. It’d be much appreciated and you won’t regret it. (I’m pretty good at sewing shadows back on.)

With love,

Jayme, Myself and I