Image from Tumblr

There is something wonderfully sad and dramatic about Peter Pan's story.

We have Wendy, the girl who doesn't want to grow up but knows someday she will since she was two.
She's a thinker, she's conscious. Wants to believe in Peter but is kind of skeptical about his existance, because it's a mistery and it gets hard for her to believe that he is real, not just something she dreamt, not just imagination.

And then we have Peter. The boy who never grew up. The physical existence of joy and youth, a beautiful restless soul who believes in faries and talks to mermaids, fights pirates and knows how to fly. He lives for adventure and refuses to create emotional connections because he thinks it's far better to avoid hurt "by never having loved than to love and lose love".

You are my Peter and I am your Wendy.

You made me feel like an eternal child. You taught me how to fly and I believed in you, in us, despite my skeptical consiousness that we could never be something real. But when we said goodbye, something tragic happened: like when Wendy left Neverland.

And just like Wendy started to grow up, our hearts started to grow apart. And just like Peter forgot about Wendy, you forgot about me. And now I'm starting to forget about you, just like Wendy ended up forgeting about Peter, because it's getting harder and harder for me to believe that what we had was, indeed, real. Everything seems very remote and misty and I'm starting to question if we weren't just something that I made up in my mind. And the sad part is: one day, when Peter remembers Wendy and comes back for her, it's too late. She's a grown up and forgot how to fly. And the same thing is happening to us.


You are my Peter and I am your Wendy. 
And the two of us can make the fairytale look like quite a tragedy.

我想你

this is wo xiang ni (pronounced as "war siang ni").

it's chinese for "I miss you" and I'm posting it here for you.

I miss you so much I had to look for different ways to express it.

Image from Tumblr

I have many crushes. Too many to name, probably.
That boy with pretty bright eyes that I met two weeks ago and the boy that I used to see last summer on the grocery store, the one that never talked to me but always gave me that charming half smile.
I have a crush on the night sky and on the sound of the sea. A crush on Rick because of the incredible work of art he'll carry on his body for the rest of his life and a crush on Dean Winchester's amazing taste in music. A crush on foreign words and accents, on poetry. A crush on the way Dali saw the world and on the Italian Renaissance. A crush on interesting, different, intelligent and quite twisted minds. On intertwined, beautiful, wise, complex thoughts. A crush on everything teal. A crush on that black scarf I bought last winter, a crush on winter itself. A crush on nice handwritings and nice smells. A crush on sunny days and rainny nights. A crush on sleepy, rough voices. A crush on my incredibly wanderlusty state of mind. A crush on well writen sentences on white paper. A crush on the earth.

And then there's you.
The crush that hurts.