a crying world
brought to its knees.
But don’t panic—
Instagram’s back up.
A Different Person
It took me a while to realize you had changed. No longer the same person I fell in love with all those years ago. Funny how I used to miss you when we were apart. Now I always miss you whenever we’re together.
Unknown Pleasures
Pearly suns—
buttons undone,
one by one,
in a garden
of wild orchids.
On bended knees—
your fingertips,
with open lips,
give ecstasy
a name.
In Your Eyes
In your eyes I see myself. I see the love we never thought was possible.
Time Heals All
There comes a time
when the crying stops,
no more tissues left
in the empty box.
The chains unchained—
the locks unlocked.
A heart slowly mends—
tick tock, tick tock.
The hours passing
on the kitchen clock.
Fearless Girl
Her power comes
from deep within,
inside a heart
her bravery sings,
a self-belief—
her smile brings,
this fearless girl
with angel wings.
A Little Part of Me
When you left—you took a little part of me. Not that I will be needing it back anytime soon. For what use is a smile to me now?
Disposable
I was just a summer fling,
a pretty plaything,
to parade in front
of your friends.
Clinging to your arm,
while yours
carved a new notch
on the fucking
bedpost.
Overwhelmed
Surely it’s irresponsible to love someone this much. If so—then I’m the happiest fool alive.
Old News
Last night—
my innocent face,
made the front page
of your heart.
The girl of your dreams—
the headline read.
When morning came,
how quickly
the story changed.
I became—
just another name,
in a long line
of lovers—
thrown away.
Like yesterday’s
newspaper.
Rise Above It
We can wallow in the mire or we can rise above it. Yes, it can be a struggle to pull ourselves out of the oozing mud of negativity and pettiness. But when we do, it’s remarkable how liberating it feels to be back in control of our lives. To be able to redirect all that wasted energy into something that showcases the very best in us. And is infinitely more worthwhile, more rewarding, and far more creative.
My Fear
To fall in love—
is what I feared
the most.
To have my heart
dragged—
To discover
a certainty,
was just—
an almost.
The Truth
The truth is fast becoming an endangered species. It’s up to all of us to protect it.
Mousetraps
My head—
a dusty attic,
filled with faded
love letters,
and forgotten
mousetraps.
Yet here I am,
thinking of you again—
eyes closed,
walking barefoot,
reliving the pain
with every step.
Our Pretend Summer
You always loved to play make-believe on rainy afternoons.
Blue cellophane sticky-taped to a bedroom window. Sipping strawberry daiquiris in chipped coffee cups. Basking in the warm glow of a plastic fan heater.
Dreaming of Saint-Tropez beaches and listening to Lana Del Rey. Two misfits in mismatched pajamas. Peeling oranges and fucking with the lights on.
Disappointment
Just when I thought my life was going in the right direction—disappointment was waiting around the corner.
I Often Wish
As years pass,
I often wish
I could outrun
time itself—
to slip away,
if only for a day,
to spend another
twenty-four hours
with you.
Horizon
When I look to the horizon, I never see it as the end of my world. More the beginning. Where a new adventure is waiting to be discovered.
The Staircase
When it comes to finding true love, some people just get lucky. The elevator doors magically open and they get an easy ride to the top. The rest of us have to take the fucking staircase. One miserable step at a time.
Our Little Garden
Like a wild rose—
her petals free,
to greet the sun
inside of me.
For what is true
is mine to give,
in this place
we call love—
our little garden
of happiness.
Heaven
A feather-soft touch,
the lips of an angel
descending on mine—
heaven in a kiss.
Love’s Light
Only love—
can burn this bright,
the brilliance
of its light,
like a million
moonlit nights,
in your eyes
it shines—
tonight.
Stain on My Heart
My angry words spilt—like red wine tipped from a glass by my own hand. I only have myself to blame for this stain on my heart.
Black Umbrellas
So many beautiful
speeches made,
the life you lived—
revered with tears.
Silent sentences—
spoken in the rain.
Such a shame,
our best words
come last.
when it’s too late.
Kaleidoscope
Dropping acid
in the bathtub.
Laughing at dragons
swinging from
the chandelier.
Incense burning—
our names written
in curling smoke
and sandalwood.
Purple stars
running from
rainbow taps.
Kissing lips—
that sing
of summer.
The sweet taste
of marmalade—
cantaloupes,
and cotton candy.
To Live a Lie
How beautiful—
to live a lie.
To imagine—
you and me
together.
To catch a glimpse
of a shooting star.
Piercing the darkness
of my loneliness.
Tomorrow Never Knows
We loved each other so much that it was unthinkable we would ever tear ourselves apart.
But somehow we did. Neither one of us able to pinpoint exactly why or how the impossible happened. And when we searched our hearts for answers, we only found more questions.
The only logical solution we could both agree on, was to go our separate ways.
As the months passed, it became clear that any thought of remaining even friends was never going to happen. The “how are you?” phone calls stopped, the random texts fizzled out, and all contact was eventually lost.
And then out of the blue, one warm July morning, our paths crossed again. You stepped out of a cab just as I was buying a hotdog from a street vendor. Our eyes met, and the smiles quickly followed. We gave each other a hug and you suggested I ditch the hotdog and we go grab a coffee instead.
While I sat across the table watching you sip your cappuccino, I realized something was different about you. The way that you looked at me. How the very words you spoke took on that old familiar tone I thought had vanished forever.
Something had changed inside of me too.
I felt the tingles of joy and excitement returning, shooting through my body, igniting my heart like a schoolboy on his first date. And then I realized what it was. My God, I was falling in love.
And so were you.
—
We fell out of love just so we could fall back in.
Saint-Germain
God is in the details
you always said.
A blue angel
dancing on my
shot glass.
Knocking back
a flaming Sambuca
at 7:07 a.m.
Sprinkling caviar
on poached eggs—
tiny black pearls
of salty heaven.
A Calum Hood
bass riff—
on my headphones.
Writing poetry
in a hotel room
in Paris.
Paradise—
gift wrapped
on a Sunday morning.
Cult of One
I’ve always been fascinated with cults.
Not necessarily the kind that hit the newspaper headlines, where maniacal bearded leaders deliver death to their grinning devotees. But more the everyday, almost invisible cults. The ones we find ourselves hopelessly drawn toward and frequently get trapped in.
Like the drunk buying a bottle of booze on a Monday morning.
The religious zealot who confuses faith with certainty, and attacks others for not sharing the same belief as them. Political junkies, who divide the world into left and right. Hurling insults at each other from the trenches, while the politicians line their pockets with thirty pieces of silver.
How we pin posters of pop idols and movie stars to our bedroom walls. Stalk the followed on social media. Wait patiently in the pouring rain, just to catch a glimpse of passing stardom. Screaming fans intoxicated by fame, addicted to celebrity—monkeys watching other monkeys eat bananas.
And then there’s our endless pursuit for the next shiny trinket.
Fallen angels shopping for halos. Worshipping at the crumbling altar of commercialism. Emptying wallets and bankrupting our souls.
But perhaps it’s the Cult of Two that interests me the most.
Where we chase butterflies disguised as romantic dreams—the relentless desire to love, and be loved in return.
Running from one relationship to the next. Hoping this time it will be different. Always forgetting that love is unpredictable, complicated, and wonderful in equal parts.
And when we come up empty-handed, we can’t wait to push the self-destruct button.
Like how when a relationship ends, we often needlessly blame ourselves. Or waste even more of our precious energy pointing the finger at the other person. Rather than simply letting go and moving on—the ultimate act of retribution.
The truth is, the harsh reality of love, is that it’s fickle, mostly fleeting, and seldom ticks every single box if we do find it.
Just as we have to come to terms with our own inherent flaws, we need to be open to accepting the limitations of others. This doesn’t mean we have to sell ourselves short, or subscribe to second best. It’s more about recognizing our individual differences and asking ourselves can we honestly make this relationship work?
Real love is not just the willingness to make it happen, but the absolute certainty that it can.
So please don’t rush into love or put your life on hold waiting for it. Enjoy being blissfully single. Use this precious time to really get to know yourself. To discover who you are, what you really want—and the future you so fucking deserve.
While you’re on this gorgeous inward adventure, go explore the wonderful world outside your bedroom window. Run away with the circus and never look back. Leave behind all the dumb expectations society expects of you, the bullshit others put on you, and create your own destiny.
Just be you.
In your amazing, dazzling, beautifully crazy—Cult of One.
—
Do you believe it’s possible to find true love?
Yes—because I found you.
Thank You
Well, you finally made it to the end.
Hopefully you enjoyed our little roller-coaster ride together.
When you read the words again, and dive beneath the surface of the dark lake, you may find you’re actually reading a very different book. I did try to warn you the pages are bewitched.
And if you’re feeling particularly mischievous, go tell your friends about Cult of Two.
I also hope you get to read my other books, Dirty Pretty Things, Bitter Sweet Love, Smoke & Mirrors, and Winter of Summers, if you haven’t already done so.
Please stay in touch on my official Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram pages. I always love to know which poems, pieces of prose, or short stories you liked the most.
Until we meet again, in another time, another place, may kindness be your guide.
Thank you so much for your wonderful support.
Best wishes always,
—Michael xo
Acknowledgments
A warm thank you to my agent, Al Zuckerman. It was such a pleasure to catch up with you and Claire in New York. I certainly look forward to seeing you again soon for another wonderful evening of potent cocktails, stimulating conversation, gorgeous food, and exceptional wine.
Samantha Wekstein, thank you for all your help and support. I truly appreciate it. And thanks to the rest of the team at Writers House, New York.
A big thank you to Kirsty Melville, Patty Rice, and Kathy Hilliard for bringing my fifth book with Andrews McMeel into the world. I can’t wait to buy you all a well-deserved martini!
Tinca Veerman, I simply can’t thank you enough. I’m just so happy to have another one of your amazing artworks on the cover of Cult of Two.
To my son, Oliver, I love you more than all the mathematical equations and scientific formulae, whirling around inside your clever head. If only I was half as smart as you.
Mum, Dad, Genevieve, and Ryder, when you visited New Zealand this year, half of this book was already written. Given the number of fabulous lunches, fantastic dinners, glasses of whiskey, and bottles of wine, it’s a miracle I recovered in time to write the rest. See you all again soon!
To Barry Houston, a grandfather to Oliver, and a wonderfully kind man to me, we will always miss you. Thank you for all the happy memories you gave to us.
Thank you to all my friends who never stop handing me a glass of wine and making me laugh.
And to all my lovely readers, thanks again for your support.
About the Author
Michael Faudet is the author of the international bestsellers Dirty Pretty Things, Bitter Sweet Love, Smoke & Mirrors, and Winter of Summers. His books have been nominated in the Goodreads Choice Awards for Best Poetry. Dirty Pretty Things was also selected by Sylvia Whitman, the owner of the iconic Shakespeare and Company bookstore in Paris, as one of her personal favorite books of 2016.
He frequently explores the intricacies of love, loss, relationships, and sex in poetry, prose, and short stories. His lyrical and often sensual writing continues to attract readers from all around the world.
Before turning his hand to writing books, Michael enjoyed a successful career in advertising as an award-winning executive creative director. He managed creative departments and developed advertising campaigns for major brands in many countries.
Michael is represented by the literary agency Writers House, New York. He currently lives in New Zealand in a little house by the sea with girlfriend and author Lang Leav.
INDEX
Introduction
A Certain Something
A Different Person
After the Party
A Little Part of Me
All the Time I Possess
A Midnight Call
A New Romance
A Secret Place
A Slow Pirouette
Awake
Black Rain
Black Umbrellas
Burnt Toast
Change the World
Chopping Onions
Crazy
Cult of One
Daffodils
Devotion
Disappointment
Disposable
Far Too Late
Fearless Girl
Fingers Burnt
Guilty Sex
Happy New Year
Heaven
Herding Cats
Horizon
How Love Feels
How Strange
Humility
I Am the Girl
If Someone Really Cares
I Had No Idea
In Love with Words
Inside Every Cherry