Why do some of us insist on clinging to facts? Is the irony of reality TV destroying reality lost on all of these folks? Magic describes everything that can't be explained to me. I believe in magic. Meantime, I become more "me" every day.
Now that I've managed to hoard every single thing I've ever wanted I finally realize that I don't need anything. Ghosts? I've got them, too. The love that I've known lives in my heart, my soul. The ones that I've lost live in my dreams. The only thing that's different is that they come around when they come around. I have no say in the matter.
Love is like energy. It can't be destroyed. That's reassuring to hopeless romantics.