To: Santa Claus, North Pole

Dear Santa,

For Christmas, I just want my childhood back. I don't wish to abandon the truth, I only want the illusion to engulf me for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. I know all your secrets, Santa, and I wish I didn't.

I know you are not real. I know Christmas is largely Pagan, not Christian. Jesus probably wasn't even born on the 25th. I know consumerism threatens to shatter the magic. I've grown out of awe and stupid bliss, into the realm of scarce emotion, blank like a Winter Wonderland.

For Christmas, I just want a sleigh ride through the winter night sky, fiction sitting beside me and steering the flying reindeer. I want the fat snowflakes flitting through the sky to melt into my skin, the cold running through me like glacial water. Let me see the houses whose occupants eagerly await the legend.

Don't let me see into the windows as parents sneak presents underneath the tree. Never ever let me see the children losing sleep for a lie. Just let me be a child again.

Just one more time, take me back. Just one more time.