Magic

A Journal entry of sorts.

The magic is slowly leaving my life. I remember when I was six or seven, and for a couple of years around that age, I would sleep underneath the Christmas tree because I was so enthralled by it, so captivated by the beauty and perfection of the holiday season. I just wanted to be near it, be a part of it. When I look at the tree in the darkness, I still feel that desire, but it is tainted. In the back of my mind I now have less wholesome thoughts--arguments, annoyances, desires, all of which detract from my ability to fully immerse myself in the joy that I used to so easily acquire. 

Maybe I am wrong; perhaps the magic is still there, simply obfuscated by despondency and ungratefulness. I wish wholeheartedly that I could stare into the glittering garland, sparkling in the multicolored lights that gild my Christmas tree, and again feel that awe and wonder. I know it's in me, I can feel it--this world has simply trampled it underfoot. I only want to curl up beneath the shimmering branches and be as close as I can to the excitement and anticipation, this inexplicable magic that Christmas gives.

Reviews

[Skoo.]

Of all the things of yours that I've read, these couple of paragraphs are the thing I relate to the most.
It's like you took all the thoughts I thought this morning while I looked at my tree and wrote them down for me. :L