The little black book

Our eyes met, first time I smiled with my eyes since the rest of my face has been covered with bandit mask, my norm accessory, to my daily outfits while out and about through out town.

Since 2020 all that has come my way has been disappointment , abandonment, bankruptcy and flat plain bad luck.

“I’m smiling at you”, she whispers, being cute behind a mask can be cute if the person all parties can hear muffled lingo. If it were any other day , I would of looked around and thought , no way she is speaking to me, but today, I felt it, the gloom peel off my skin and the sun peek through. I watched her as answered the grocery store phone. Do you have a lucky number or two? She is adorable and I was happy for the small talk, eager to grab anything she threw my way. I shared with her what she called our lucky numbers now and played a lottery ticket...maybe today was my lucky day.

The lucky numbers are 5, 17, 51, 52 and 3 .

Prize $20,000. Like she promised I was right back to her with half the winnings. We won, my lucky numbers were just that lucky. What can be better, an attraction, flirtation, chemistry and some money to spend foolishly while in lust . What was I thinking ?

She was lovely five foot petite Latina who lite up a room . She had black hair and numerous freckles that splashed her sun kissed face . I was ummm, hooked . She had a kind of fire energy about her . She shared her love to read , to write and play word board games. She brought change into my daily streaming. There Was a magic that filled the rooms as she read to me what she shared in her little black book. Her little black book, not mine , hers. She always reminded me of “her” possession. There had been many nights when She shared and other nights when she wrote silently and shared none. I was not ever allowed to read her book, not even touch it . She would say , the book had more value than anything she owned even me . That dam worn leather notebook she would doodle in every night.,was learning more of her than i did . Dam I hated that book, instead of talking she wrote , she shared her feelings, her silly jokes and secrets within the now crumbled up pages. She left me , and I took what she loved most , her little black book. It had been weeks since her smell enchanted these four walls. While she walked about the apartment packing what belonged to her, I snatched the book and replaced it for an empty old scrap book I had used for grocery lists.

She left and I took it...i threw the book at the door when she turned and waved goodbye. Since then , the mail has covered the floor and the dirt has become visible...I will be sure to hire the cleaning service once I’m done wallowing in her leaving me. As I roll again under the dirty body sweat sheets, her smell long gone , I hang my body off the bed , self pity couldn’t look worse ... I slide my body off the bed and I fall

To

The

Ground

And

Crawl

... I reach and find the little black book. Tears filled my eyes, I bring the book to my nose and sniff hard, all I smell is gone. I open the book and find empty pages , one two three four five six , ten, twenty what the duck was she writing , did I grab the wrong book ? Is this another Murphy’s law, karma whatever all the zen peeps preached about on social media. I thought I was being clever and reached into her bag , to take from her what she has taken From me , my will to live ever feel the same without her. Unlike her, she could live without me, all she cared about were her thoughts, her peace ...her, this is bullshit ! The book I held now flies across the room, only to smash the crystal vase filled with dead flowers and molded water. Shit , my luck is getting better . I’m full of sarcasm and Shame. Going to clean the mess I pick the little black book and there , on every page , her words, her thoughts, her scripted plan to leave, without me. I read her , I no longer miss her, because now I know where to find her, all with in the little black book.