My parents have never told me that there’s no Santa Claus.

And I’ve asked.

A lot.

I started to ask because other kids said that there wasn’t a Santa. That Santa didn’t exist. That not only did our parents create this massive lie, they were actually the perpetrators of the ruse. And they were all, every one of them - co-conspirators. Hot co-conspirators. With mini marshmallows.

This summer I discovered I was not homeless but home, more. Home here and there. Home in several states. With many memory keepers. With family that is blood, and family that is chosen. Driving to each of them, connecting myself to my magic, which is tucked in corners of roads all over.