A Peter Dream

I’ve never had the luxury of dreaming about Peter but dreams can be conjured up like stories and here is my wish for one. Perhaps this wish, or an element of it, will be taken up by my subconscious and repeated when I sleep at some point in the future.

Falling, falling, falling, like Alice through the rabbit hole. A slow, relaxing fall rather than a fast and frightening one.

I land on the silk coverlet of a four poster bed, whose deep blue curtains caringly shield me from the outside world. I roll onto my back and gaze at a magnificent painting of stars and angels against a golden backdrop on the wooden ‘ceiling’ above me. It does not strike me as odd that I must have fallen through this ‘ceiling’ to arrive here, since the air is tingling with magic - the magic I’ve desperately wanted to be real due to my adoration of fairy and fantasy stories.

“Hi Tia,” a soft and instantly recognizable voice says from behind.

I slowly sit up and turn to face him: Peter. The perfect guy. The one. He smiles warmly from his position at the head of the bed. I barely notice the beautiful tasselled cushions behind him and instead focus on his calm, contented expression.

He pats the space beside him, saying “Come sit.”

I move up to sit next to him, all the time looking at his face. It strikes me that I’ve not spoken one word since seeing him.

“Hi,” I murmur, almost shyly, though Peter has been with me for so long that it’s almost like he’s always been there.

Peter reclines against the cushions and puts an arm around my back, which I relax against. In this new, more comfortable position, we gaze into each other’s eyes and I can feel that I am wearing a smile, though mine feels rather more excitable than Peter’s looks.

‘Gentle, tender, ...’ My descriptions of Peter’s smile are cut off as he moves his head closer so that the tips of our noses are almost brushing.

“Are you okay, my love?” he asks, making my heart perform a shaky somersault at the words ‘my love’.

“I couldn’t be better,” I whisper. “What makes you ask?”

“Well,” he says, and reaches out with his free hand to caress my cheek, “you always have this rather ... lost look about you. I wouldn’t want you to feel vulnerable around me.”

“I’m only lost in your perfection, Peter,” I tell him truthfully.

Peter chuckles, not mocking me - no, never mocking me - but expressing his gentle discrediting of the idea that he’s a perfect human being, and raises his head slightly to kiss my nose.

“You’re so endearing, Tia.”

I sigh heavily, releasing the heavy weight of non-Peter-related thoughts, almost releasing all thoughts altogether.

“You’re an angel,” I respond, feeling the need to flatter him after being given a compliment.

Peter laughs lightly again.

“Well, you say that. But I don’t know, Tia... I don’t think so. You care just as much as I do - if not more...” He ducks his head modestly. “You’re the angel.”

“I’m flattered but it’s just not true,” I say. “I don’t always feel worthy of you, Peter.”

“Oh, Tia,” Peter says, his tone slightly reproving but still gentle and warm as always. “If you’re not worthy of someone who merely sets out to bring you happiness, I’m a clown who’s going to become a funeral director.”

I snort in amusement.

“Darling, please don’t put yourself down. I don’t like it when you insist on your inferiority. It’s not right for you to call me anything other than your equal.”

“Okay, Peter,” I say solemnly.

Peter looks up into my eyes before kissing me on the lips. The kiss is brief so that he can say “I love you” after it but then he kisses me again and there’s time enough for me to drown and completely lose all sense of time.

When the kiss ends and I rise to the surface of the Ocean of Love I see radiance in Peter’s eyes.

“You’re magic,” I tell him. “Positively magic.”

Peter looks serious because he can tell that I’m serious and because, knowing me so fully that he could be the little voice inside my mind, he knows just how much it means to me to have an aspect of magic in this relationship.

“What else can I be for you, my wondrous, precious darling?”

I sigh deeply.

“Nothing. You’re perfect. Exactly right. I feel like angels have closely studied my character and designed you to be the complementing half of my heart to bring me the most profound happiness a person can feel.”

“You’re so amazing,” he whispers, looking touched and awed and like he just wants to kiss me over and over. “So surreal. Oh, let me hold you, Tia. Let me hold you tight against this world which you are far too good for.” I move closer to him and he wraps his arms around me, kissing my hair as I snuggle into his chest.

“Oh, Tia, you’re so wonderful,” he murmurs intensely. “I wish I could hold you forever... I wish our spirits could merge on the astral plane so that we’d never be apart and so that you’d always be a part of me.”

“Me too,” I reply. “Oh, how I wish those things could happen.”

And so we lie there and talk romantically and kiss and express our wonder at each other and undying love for the other. And it’s all so perfect that when I wake up there’s a real tear in my eye and my heart is thumping calmly and steadily in a peaceful and loving atmosphere that lingers for a few seconds while my body adjusts to consciousness.


There is nothing more inspiring than a Peter dream, even if it is conjured up by the imagination rather than experienced. Could you write a Peter poem, dearest ZillaGirl? Could you express the perfect inspiration and the strongest most profound love? Just think of Peter’s smile, my dear. The sort of smile that could make rain clouds dissolve and invite the sun to shine brightly in the sky...

The End

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