I have been drained of all of what I was before and I confess, my fairy light faded.
I'm in mourning; deep, deep mourning and I can't say when I will float on the surface with my face turned towards the sun again.
Three months of constant death, loss and failure in everything that I have done. Beings that I have loved nearly the entirety of my life have been laid to rest and are now somewhere far away and they have taken parts of myself with them. I hardly feel like "myself" at all. When the first death happened, my body went in to such shock that my fairy pink hair actually lost it's color. I kid you not. It was like the magic drained out of me taking the pink with it, leaving a base of white. I have yet been able to put color in to it, nothing sticks and it's become a bit of a joke. My hair is a barometer to my wild spirit, and right now, apparently it needs rest and to be left alone.
The pink hair extends to everything within and around me. Things that I once held so close are gone and no longer important to me. Many old painful memories have been coming up for me to look at, shake my head at, box up and send off with the wind never to see again. Dreams that have made my heart pound with intense excitement while daydreaming about no longer feel right.
Rounding everything up, I've becoming a lost boy.
And yet, with all of it brings strings and paper planes with messages of love attached and scrawled across them. I have never seen such an outpouring of love from the people around me. I've seen everyone come to my aid to hold me up and make sure I'm safe and taken care of. I have also learned a deep, heart wrenching yet wonderful life lesson of compassion. Death taught me that. Loss taught me that.
I have also never felt so young. I've reached a milestone (in my books) birthday and I feel the youngest, happiest and the most free I ever have. In fact, I feel the way I wished so desperately to feel when I was at the age I should have felt like this. I've grown older in age but much, much younger in spirit.
I know what J.M Barrie was talking about. I get it now.
Every year on my birthday, though I don't know why or when it started, I read Peter Pan. The things you hear reading between the lines and scenes painted before your eyes by the words on the page, change and shift every single year, but this time, I get it.
When things leave, wish them well, keep dreaming and always be a wandering lost boy.