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I sometimes wonder if magic really exists. Head tipped back, looking at the stars; walking down a dark alley and watching forms appear and disappear out the corner of my eye. After reading some fantasy, or watching a specially good movie about magical creatures, that feeling multiplies in my chest, inside my head as if it were psyllidae. Yes, plant louse because it is not even a good thing for modern life, it is said to sweep me out of my body and get my mind numbly travelling through all that faerie, and witchy, and magical literature, over and over until someone brings me back to this side of reality. 

 Each night, I silently wish I could be part of those universes.