He remembers everything.
He remembers the Man, his Father, and the Woman he claimed to love.
He remembers the screams and shouts they called affections.
He remembers flying away to the Gardens.
He remembers the first taste of freedom.
He remembers the long nights spent alone.
He remembers meeting Maimie, he remembers saying goodbye.
He remembers his flight to Neverland.
He remembers loneliness.
He remembers the first time in years, perhaps centuries, he saw another human.
He remembers the first lost boy.
He remembers not telling the child he wasn't lost, just stolen.
He remembers the first girl (what was her name?).
He remembers friendship and love.
He doesn't remember the next Wendy. Or the next.
He tries not to remember the pain when she left, taking the boys with her.
He remembers the replacements he found, each Tootles, each Nibs, each Curly.
He doesn't remember the countless fairies, or the innumerable Captain Hooks.
He remembers the last Wendy.
He remembers spring cleaning, and her daughter.
He remembers her granddaughter's first flight.
He remembers her sitting in her chair, now old and wrinkled.
She remembers asking him if he knows how old he is when he comes for her granddaughter.
She remembers the pain on his face when she does.
She remembers reminding him he was an infant when he ran away, but he is a boy now.
She remembers realisation dawning.
She remembers telling him that it is time to let go of make-believe.
She remembers him crumbling to dust before her very eyes.
She remembers telling the wind his odd address, with tears rolling down her cheeks.
She remembers the sparkling dust blowing away into the darkness.
She remembers Peter Pan.
They remember everything, together.