RACHEL JUSTINE

Little Black Book

A LITTLE BLACK BOOK. THE NIGHT WAS PITCH BLACK. IN THE CITY, I COULD BARELY SEE A GLIMMER OF A STAR IN THE SKY, LET ALONE A GLIMMER OF ANY HOPE. LOCKDOWNS HAD HIT THE CITY HARD, AND THE SOCIAL ISOLATION WAS BEGINNING TO CATCH UP WITH ME. HEAD SPINNING OUT OF FEARS OF ILLNESS, ALONE, ABANDONMENT AND A WITHDRAWAL FROM THE WORLD, I NEEDED TO REACH OUT. I WAS EXPERIENCING AN VERY INTENSE CASE OF WRITER'S BLOCK AND COMPLETELY UNISNPIRED IN MY WORK AND MY POETRY I HAD BEEN DETERMINED TO WRITE THIS WINTER. I DRESSED MYSELF UP IN MY BLACK MERINO WOOL DRESS COAT, WITH MY BLACK SWEAT SUIT ON UNDERNEATH, AND HEADED OUTSIDE FOR AN ADVENTURE AND SOME FRESH AIR. THE COLD AIR HIT MY FACE HARD, LIKE A SLAP IN THE FACE. A WAKE UP CALL- YOU NEED TO GET OUT MORE, EVEN IF IT HURTS YOU! I FELT ODDLY ALIVE, EMBRACING THE BELOW FREEZING TEMPERATURES. I COULD FINALLY FEEL…SOMETHING. I NEEDED TO FEEL SOMETHING. I NEEDED SOME TOUCH OF REALITY TO HIT ME HARD LIKE A COMET OUT OF SPACE, SHATTERING MY EXPECTATIONS WITH A HARD HIT OF A REALITY PILL. MY HEAD OPENED UP. I WAS OFF A SCREEN. THE MATRIX I WAS ABSORBED IN BURST OPEN, BUSTING AT THE SEEMS. I SAW A COUPLE WALK DOWN THE ROAD HAND IN HAND. A LITTLE DOG WALKED NEXT TO THEM, DRESSED TO THE NINES IN GREY BOOTIES AND A BLACK COAT, MUCH NICER THAN MINE.