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Me trying my luck at a lottery
booth in Jerusalem, 2025.
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Sometimes I feel that destiny follows me like a quiet shadow.
It appears in small moments — a lottery booth glowing in the evening,
a rare vinyl waiting in a dusty crate,
a melody that suddenly feels like it knows my name.
I stop at lottery booths not for the money,
but for the hope that life might send me a sign.
A gentle reminder that luck still remembers me.
But the truest signs come from  music.
Music has always been my secret dialogue with the universe —
a language of longing,
a map made of rhythms,
a promise hidden between notes.
And yet, of all the destinies I chase,
there is one I ache for more than all the rest:
the destiny of love.
I dream of a woman whose heart matches mine,
someone warm, gentle, alive.
A woman who understands that collecting
records,
is really collecting moments of fate.
Someone close enough to reach,
someone who doesn’t smoke,
someone who lives freely, like I do.
I say I don’t believe in dreams,
but a small flame inside me refuses to go out.
It insists that destiny is still weaving something for me —
quietly, patiently, beautifully.
Maybe one day I’ll pass a lottery booth
and feel a strange pull.
Maybe I’ll find a rare vinyl that feels like a sign.
Maybe I’ll meet her —
the woman whose soul hears the same music.
And when that day comes,
I’ll know this was the luck I was searching for all along.
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