I think my parents could tell something was different in me, because for the first time in five years my parents decided to spend this Christmas with family far up north. Branching away from the rare inch of snow that gets me out snow for every year, my relatives were battling getting out of their drive way with more then five feet of snow.

I told myself, that, perhaps the environment I had spent my earliest and by far most favorite Christmases ever would bring back my spirit for this.

The thought of falling snow outside my window with the old familiar Christmas songs and the image of making my snowman friend "Wilton" brought much hope to me.

Maybe it will come back! Just for one more year! Please!

But, in the back of my head, I knew there was no point. Once your innocence is gone, it's gone.

I just wish I could feel it one more time though, so I can describe to myself what I felt, so perhaps I could be happy in remembering the feeling while I still had it.

But, it's the biggest mystery to me.

The thing is, I just don't remember it.

Nothing.

All I remember is that it made me happy.

Nothing more.

Oh well, you never know. Perhaps The Lord will bless me with a brush of happiness for a second or two.

But why am I different from every other child who goes through this tragedy as I do.

I deserve the feeling no more then anyone else.

------------

The trip was how I remember every trip to be. With my ear plugs in listening to pop or the occasional heavy meddle, I had my nose in my laptop as I wrote the report that was due in the next two weeks. I'd rather get it done now then the last day of break.

The trip was very slow, as I had always remembered them. An occasional stop every three or four hours to use the bathroom or to get a snack at a run down gas station in the middle of nowhere. Nothing uncommon.

Bt for the first time in a long time, I saw snow falling.

It was magical.

But not to me.

I didn't feel it.

All I saw was white flakes falling from the grey sky, and hitting the road and disappearing as if it had never fallen.

But when I felt magic, it was different.

I don't remember what I felt when I saw the snow fall. My guess is blue and white sparkling diamonds falling from the white Heavenly sky. To catch one on your tongue would be a gift from God.

Perhaps that wasn't what I felt.

Because I know it wasn't.

There was real magic.

And, of course, you can't describe magic.

It's much to wonderful.

After a few more hours, though, the snow didn't disappear.

Instead, every few minutes, the snow seemed to get deeper and deeper. The more we traveled. The farther north we went.

The more magic we passed.

When the sun had fallen, we made a rest stop. The snow was maybe 3 feet deep.

I burst from the car, hoping for Winter to remember the girl it used to know, to let me run and be merry before we got back into the tiny car.

But it didn't.

I was greeted with a chill, that went through my spin. I began to shake.

But I ignored it.

I tried to run through the piles of snow under the sleeping trees and the quiet snowfall.

To feel the freedom I had felt before.

I could fly.

But now, I can't.

I felt a deep pain in my chest after running for maybe two minutes. I breathed hard.

In. Out. In. Out.

Oy.

I had to put my hands on my knees and catch my breath.

I am not welcome to the magic of snow anymore.