[found pinned to a window frame, blitzed house, London, 1942: UNDELIVERABLE].
My dearest darling Peter,
I hope that you never read this. I sincerely hope that this never becomes important. If you are reading this, then I need you to understand. I will only say this once, Peter. This is your one and only warning:
You will not touch them.
That is all that I have to say. These boys here are my boys, a part of my story, not yours, and I will have no kisses here and I will have no thimbles. Yes, Peter, I remember pirates and mermaids and the colour of the sky through the holes that we left in the clouds, and I will not have the look come into their eyes that I remember coming into the eyes of my brothers. We were all lost, once, Peter, only some of us were more lost than others. I will not lose them. If you come here, if you take them, I will find a way to follow. I can hear you now, Peter...'But Wendy-darling, you're all grown up now, you can't fly, you can't find the way.' Mother is not a dirty word, Peter, and I remember flying. What you must remember about me is that I have been disappointed by my whole life since you left me. If you take them, then I'll take my one happy thought (and they are it, Peter...they are my happy thought) and I'll put it at the heart of all of my disappointment and all of my loss and it will burn white hot and I will scald my way through the sky to you.
Your world is coming to an end anyway. All of the girls who you loved and left behind are grown now, Peter, and what we are coming to realise, all of us, is that the stories were never about us, and we were always being left behind. We're coming for you now, Peter, ready or not. We're coming for you, and none of us have hooks for hands but we are all wearing your mother's face.
Do not come here, Peter. Do not read this.
Ever (never) yours,