It’s not what you get, it’s not what you give, it’s not what you wrap or how much torn paper fills the garbage bags behind the coffee cups that balance on the arms of couches. It’s not the receipts or honey glazed ham. It’s not the thank you notes unwritten or the heat from the stove, burning bright. It’s not the carols or the “Christmas Story” repeating on TBS. It’s not the Scrooge, it’s not the Grinch, it’s not the Tiny Tim or the Charlie Brown. It’s the magic. It’s the magic and it’s always been the magic. It’s the belief despite it all. It’s the not sleeping a wink all Christmas Eve because morning cannot come soon enough. It’s the thought that Maybe, just maybe, you Did hear hooves on the rooftop. It’s the warmth and the soft glow of lights. It’s the magic. It’s always been the magic.
Frozen Flakes on Christmas Light Bokeh (by TylerKnott)
“Books are the quietest and most constant of friends; they are the most accessible and wisest of counselors, and the most patient of teachers.”