Every year, as soon as December begins to breathe frost and smell like tangerines, I catch myself thinking that New Year has always been more than just a holiday for me. It is magic that seems to connect the past, present, and future into one bright thread.

As a child, New Year was a special time. My family and I would put up the Christmas tree on December 31, when the twilight was already gathering outside. My mom always said the tree should appear at the very last moment, so that magic would come into the house. We hung toys that we inherited from my grandmother — glass balls with barely noticeable scratches, and they looked like ancient treasures. The top was decorated with a star that had lost some of its sparkles, but for me, it was always the most beautiful.

I remember how before going to bed I would sit by the window with a small notebook. At these moments, the silence of the house was filled with my whisper: I wrote down wishes, simple and sincere. To ask for health for mom, for dad to smile more often, for the snow outside to be like in a fairy tale. And somewhere there, between the lines, there was one small wish — for Santa Claus to bring me the toy I dreamed of so much.

Now I’m an adult. I know that Santa Claus is dad, who hid presents in the closet in the dark after work. But the desire to dream and make wishes remained. True, now it has become different.

This year, I will again sit by the window with a notebook. Snow will fall, wrapping the earth in a white blanket, and I will so want to believe that the world is still open to small miracles. And this is what I will write. I will not want something material. I will not need new gadgets, jewelry, or trips. I will dream about a person. About a man who will look into my soul and say: "You are important to me. You are the one I have been looking for." I will wait for the one who will become a part of my life, who will hold my hand when the snow melts, and spring begins again in my life.

When I look at the Christmas tree decorated with my own hands, I think about how great it would be to share this moment with someone again. Hanging toys together, laughing at the crookedly hung garland, drinking tea with cinnamon and dreaming about the future. New Year has always been about family, about closeness, about warmth. And now I miss it so much.

I don’t know if my wish will come true. But I want to believe that somewhere out there, in this big world, there is a person who is writing his wish at this moment. And maybe we dream of the same thing.

If you also have a cherished wish, don’t hesitate to make it. Write, whisper, think about it, and let this night become for all of us a step towards a small, but such an important happiness. New Year is a time of miracles. And who knows, maybe one of them is already knocking on our doors.