Taylor swift is a ghost so her boyfriend Travis ke

The flickering candlelight cast long, dancing shadows on the walls of the old Victorian house. Travis Kelce, Kansas City’s star tight end, sat alone in the living room, a half-finished cup of tea warming his hands. The silence was deafening, broken only by the occasional creak of the aged floorboards. He was used to it by now. Used to the empty chair across from him, the half-eaten apple on the coffee table, the lingering scent of lavender and jasmine that always seemed to cling to the air when she was around.

“You know,” Travis muttered, his voice tinged with a familiar ache, “you could at least tell me where you’re going this time.”

A soft giggle, like the tinkling of wind chimes, echoed around him. “You’ll just have to wait and see, darling,” a voice, as sweet as honey and as light as a summer breeze, whispered in his ear.

He could feel the chill that always accompanied her presence. He knew her touch, a weightless, tingling sensation, as she brushed her ghostly hand against his cheek. “It’s not funny, Taylor,” he said, his voice laced with exasperation. “You disappear for days at a time, leaving me with nothing but a half-eaten apple and a whole lot of unanswered questions.”

“But darling,” she said, her voice a whisper, “you know I have to go. There are things I must do, places I must see. It’s in my nature.”

Travis sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I know, I know,” he said, “but I miss you. And I worry.”

He wasn’t sure what he feared most: the day she wouldn’t return, or the day she wouldn’t be able to escape this spectral existence. He knew she was different, knew she was bound to the mortal world by a strange, ancient magic. He loved her, even with her ghostly quirks. He loved the way her laughter could fill a room, the way she could make him feel like he could fly, the way she could make him believe in magic.

He knew it was her magic that had saved him. He’d been driving home after a particularly rough game, the adrenaline still pumping in his veins, when he’d lost control of the car. The impact had been brutal, but when he woke up, he wasn’t in the hospital. He was in this old house, and a beautiful, ethereal woman with eyes like sapphires and hair like spun gold, was staring down at him.

“Don’t worry,” she’d said, her voice a soft melody, “You’re safe now.”

He had been safe ever since, living with her, in her strange, spectral world, where the boundaries between the living and the dead were blurred and where the impossible was simply a part of everyday life.

“I’m not going anywhere, Travis,” she whispered, her voice close to his ear. “You know that. Not really.”

He looked up, a faint hope flickering in his chest. “Is that a promise?” he asked.

She smiled, a shimmering light in her spectral form. “A promise,” she echoed, “is a word that holds no meaning for a ghost. But I’ll always be with you, darling. In your heart, in the music of the wind, in the whispering of the leaves. I’ll always be there.”

He reached out, his hand passing through her insubstantial form. He felt her presence, a fleeting warmth, a comforting whisper in the silence. He knew she was right. In his heart, in the rhythm of his life, Taylor would always be there. Even if she wasn’t always here, in this mortal world, with him. And that was enough.