There is that one time of the year where a teenage girl has an excuse to go shopping instead of finish an assignment she has barely started. That time of year where you dream of something special, that something will happen, something exciting like true loves first kiss -under the mistletoe, a prince to appear on your townhouse doorstep or a long awaited holiday to a faraway land. A white winter Christmas interrupted by the Hyde Park tree covered in frost with its decorations of yellow lights and streaks of red, green and gold, the kind that dangle, the sort that glisten and sparkle and the ones that shine back a distorted reflection. The soft snow falling lightly from the night sky, the city that never sleeps is left in a deep slumber with the charms of Christmas. Alone in the park with the dim pale lights shinning back at you, the once so full streets are now left empty in respect of that one night where there are expectations of a fateful Hallmark movie ending. The shop windows are empty but you can still play back what you saw the other night standing on the exact piece of concrete in 5th Avenue amazed by the men and women of the restless city that walked if not ran to get the last of their presents; tourists stopping every 10 steps to capture the moment of their White Christmas, that unforgettable hustle and bustle, that one time of year where you’re allowed to be in love, in love with every card you write, every present you send and every Christmas decoration you pass, in love with the idea of Christmas.