Chapter 9Eli, Eddie, and Esmerelda
A handwritten verse, couplet, haiku, or ode of some sort awaited me every single morning in my electronic inbox or on paper atop my desk. Some were very short—Everything Life Is—while others went on for a couple of pages. Three letters that made up my name were always capitalized or in a fancier script than the rest of the piece.
“Because you are my muse,” Johnny told me.
Poetry, puzzle pieces, and coffee; that was romance to us. Still, I went a step further. After waiting so many days to find happiness, I wanted to mark each one now that I had. With the aid of several calendars that listed some commemorative occasion or cause for celebration every day of the year, I started on February 23—National Tootsie Roll Day. Surreptitiously sneaking into the Fl
