Dear
Santa,
My name
is Emily Harris. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?
My
Christmas list this year is different. There are no unicorns, pretty dolls with
pretty dresses, or iPods mentioned. In fact, I don’t think any of these things
can be wrapped—which is a little unorthodox, isn’t it? I hope that’s okay.
For
Christmas this year, I would like:
- A
gentle snowfall on the 25th of December; I want to share the beauty
with everyone.
- A
warm meal delivered to the man I see at the park every day; I don’t think he
gets those very often
- A
steady job for the woman next door; she deserves it, I think.
- And
my mom. If that’s okay.
I’m
nineteen now. I know that no amount of cookies or milk will bring you down my
chimney on Christmas Eve. I know that no amount of letters will make a bundle
of presents appear under my tree on Christmas morning.
But I
want to believe that magic exists. And if it does...well, why can’t you?
Love,
Emily
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