“I’ve been reading these letters to Santa,” I said. “They remind me of how simple Christmas used to feel, the straightforward magic of it all. But I can’t remember how that felt without being simultaneously aware of having lost that feeling. You can never go back to seeing Christmas the way a child sees it, you know? You can only catch little glimpses here and there. Moments of what it used to be like. It’s like catching snow—nearly impossible, and then you can never hold on to it. It’s nothing more than a cold memory of itself, in the end.”
