Every so often, I find myself sort of missing, ya know... magic.
Not that prestidigitation stuff, I mean magic magic. Fantasy. Wonder. Things that we wish were real. That stuff we all imagine and dream about. The stuff that, when we're kids, we naively think can or does exist.

Sometimes I miss being so oblivious about everything.

I miss looking out the window, seeing a cloud, and wondering if it was really a floating island. I miss believing that Santa really did fly across the night sky, or that I myself could fly some day like I had wings. I miss thinking that there really are magic kingdoms out there, with grand castles, strange creatures, and spells could make dreams reality.

The world used to be a vast, endless place with places left to discover. Now I see an overpopulated, cramped, self-injured sphere floating in a space. I once saw other nations as wondrous, far-off places, not war-torn, poverty-stricken, and death-filled disasters. Heck, going more then a few blocks from my house used to be like going to some other world. The sun and moon weren't a burning ball and a lifeless rock, but mystical objects in the sky. Cartoon characters used to be real to me, living out there somewhere. Snow wasn't just frozen water, it was otherworldly. Wishing on a star used to mean something.

The magic isn't entirely gone. I still have my family that loves me. I still have my own creativity, even if it has been dulled to a degree with the progressive onset of adulthood. Some things can still amaze me some of the time. But, alas, there really isn't any way to get back that pure, naive wonder of childhood once logic, fact, and the harshness of reality sink in.

At the very least, I know that I can help the kids I adopt some day feel the kind of wonders I've felt when their imagination is still the driving force of how they see the world.