Bitter Sweet Love (Michael Faudet) Read online

  I awoke to the purring of a ginger cat pawing my face.

  My back stiff from lying on the carpet, a head full of squeaking bats and eyes half open.

  Sassy was standing over me, grinning, her long legs straddling my chest, a stick of pink cotton candy hovering over my startled face.

  “What are doing?” I asked in a raspy morning voice.

  “I’ve made you breakfast, darling. Bon appétit!”

  I took the sticky cotton candy from her outstretched hand and watched as she sat down on the green leather armchair opposite me. Naked except for the red cape that covered her pale white shoulders.

  “Hurry up and eat that,” she hissed. “We have a big day ahead of us. Those swans won’t feed themselves, darling. We’ve got to get down to the park before this storm passes.”

  I slowly rose to my feet, legs trembling and a sudden rush of vertigo sweeping across my aching body.

  “I need to take a shower,” I muttered.

  Sassy leapt out of the chair, wrapped her arms around me, and kissed me hard on the lips.

  “There you go,” she said. “All nice and sparkling clean.”

  “You really are a terribly strange girl,” I replied, trying to escape her vicelike grip.

  “Oh, I’m quite mad,” she laughed. “A runaway circus on acid. Kiss me again, I dare you.”

  —

  We huddled by the murky pond, flashes of lightening exploding in the dark skies, a fierce rain soaking us to the skin.

  A trail of bread crumbs drifting across the muddy water.

  Two angry swans arguing over the last piece of stale crust.

  Her Eyes

  Her eyes burn bright,

  all half moon glow,

  my shining stars

  in darkness lit,

  a welcomed light

  in stormy sea,

  when torrid waves

  crash over me.

  No dancing fireflies

  can compete,

  all beauty found

  in eyes that meet,

  each curling lash

  unfurled, complete—

  her eyes in mine

  the love

  we speak.

  Parachutes

  The months passed.

  My tears drying in the afternoon sun, all memories seeping into the shadows, the whiskey bottle empty.

  The last phone message played, replayed, and played again.

  Listening for clues.

  Perhaps a hesitation in your voice.

  Something, anything . . .

  Nothing.

  A magpie flew overhead.

  Giggling children ran circles around a lonely tree.

  A lawn mower sang in the distance.

  All life returning to the park as I deleted your number with fingers numb and trembling.

  —

  We all make mistakes.

  Mine was falling madly in love and forgetting to pack a parachute.

  42

  The universe

  its mystery held,

  by winking stars

  and magic spells,

  a milky way

  of frothy milk,

  all spinning spun

  its secrets spilt,

  by laughing moon

  and smiling sun,

  a hologram

  since time begun.

  Where Alice lives

  in Wonderland,

  and rainbows made

  by sleight of hand,

  the open door

  we enter through,

  with golden key

  is 42,

  for what is real

  is real,

  is not,

  a riddle lost

  to a truth—

  forgot.

  Femme Fatale

  She unclipped the pretty black bra and flashed me a wry smile.

  Her eyes possessed that rarest of qualities, a sparkle of mischief with just a hint of danger.

  And when she spoke, her words circled me, like hungry wolves moving in for the kill.

  —

  “I can’t stop thinking about last night,” she whispered. “I felt like a pinball machine. Your fingers hitting all the right buttons, bells ringing, my body lit up and begging for a replay.”

  My Heart

  My heart has become a broken compass. Every time I try to leave you, I always find myself running back into your arms.

  The Garden

  A lone sparrow hopped across the moss-covered table, stealing a crumb that had fallen from my plate, before darting back into the sky with a fluttering of speckled wings.

  I took another bite from the slice of lemon cake, a bee buzzing past my ear, racing off to join the others feasting on a row of fragrant honeysuckle.

  Miriam sat opposite me, sipping on a generous gin and tonic, eyes blank and smile missing.

  A hushed whisper rippled through the trees, a quiet discussion between waving leaf and wispy summer breeze.

  A deafening pause in our broken conversation.

  I reached for my glass, the ice jangling as I emptied it, my mind desperately searching for the right words, any words in fact, that might make some sense of it all.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Miriam gave me a sad little look, one that said all the words I should have said.

  She slowly eased her way out of the creaking cane chair and straightened her floral dress with a soft brush of slender fingers.

  One last glance in my direction.

  Her parting words the last I would ever hear from those pretty lips.

  —

  “When we plant weeds in a beautiful garden, it is often tears of regret that water them.”

  The Bed We Made

  A bed we made

  of thorny sheets,

  of jagged rocks,

  a chasm deep,

  cruel words once said

  a mountain steep,

  cannot be climbed

  in restless sleep,

  a nightmare shared,

  now ours

  to keep,

  for what is lost—

  tired eyes

  will weep.

  The Gypsy Girl

  The darkness descended like a black velvet shroud, silently covering the arthritic branches of twisted trees and decaying leaves as I stumbled blindly along the little earthy track. My face scratched by cruel thorns as I fought my way deeper into the dying forest.

  I had been warned by the local villagers to stay well away. Hushed words whispered in the warm glow of burning embers, punctuated with furrowed brows and trembling voices.

  Yet here I was, driven onward by vodka, drawn to disaster by the tyranny of conceit and reckless curiosity.

  Suddenly a pinprick of light appeared in the distance and I felt a strange, tingly wave of excitement wash over me.

  Little shocks of electricity flowing through my veins, making my heart beat faster.

  —

  I had often read about gypsy campsites in old dusty books that slept peacefully on the shelves of forgotten libraries.

  Strange places where fires burned bright and crying violins told melancholy tales, laced with magic and mystery.

  Immersed in the late-night stories of gorgeous gypsy girls wearing brightly colored silk and jangling jewelry, dancing wildly around the flickering flames.

  However, what I found in the small forest clearing was an abridged version.

  A single sentence written with a lone lantern that hung above a solitary door made of wood and tarnished brass hinges.

  “Hello, anybody home?”

  The words sounded ridiculous, escaping my lips before I had the chance to stop them.

  Leaving me feeling awkward, my hands restless in the pockets of my coat, numb fingers doing their best to hide from the cold.

  I didn’t have to wait long for a reply.

  A small sliver of light appeared, turning quickly into a triangle of red, before illuminating the trees on either
side of me in a pale shade of crimson.

  My eyes transfixed on the caravan door as it opened wide, revealing a magnificent vision that was to haunt my waking dreams forever.

  She stood before me.

  A waterfall of red hair falling carelessly across bare shoulders, a curvaceous body held hostage by a tight emerald-green corset, her scarlet lips framed by dangerous eyes and heavy black mascara.

  When our eyes met, all time ceased to exist. The dying seconds frozen like the petals of red roses kissed by autumn frost.

  I had never believed in love at first sight.

  Until now.

  —

  I felt the silver dagger plunge deep within my chest, the orgasm still rippling through my naked body, the intense pleasure masking the pain.

  A faint smile upon my lips.

  As I watched the gypsy girl steal my heart with bloody fingers and place it into the tiny gold cage that swung above her bed.

  Where it remains to this day.

  We Spoke

  We spoke of love

  and cities found,

  of buried gold

  deep underground,

  how rivers sigh

  when lost to sea,

  of whiskey poured

  in cups of tea.

  We spoke of art

  in golden frames,

  of memories lost,

  forgotten names,

  how shooting stars

  write wishes bright,

  and shadows fade

  into the night.

  We spoke of wolves

  and many things,

  of ticking clocks

  and circus swings,

  how crying doves

  fly up above,

  but most of all

  we spoke of love.

  A Tragedy

  Falling so madly in love with you is a tragedy. Nothing in my world will ever seem so beautiful again.

  We Wrote

  We wrote about love—our sentences the hands that caressed each other on warm summer nights. A story without an ending, written by a pen that would never run dry.

  It Was Love

  There was no fanfare or fireworks show. Just a quiet knowing somewhere deep within my heart. It was love and she completed me.

  Another Year

  Another year,

  a new beginning,

  a resolution made—

  to fall again

  in love

  with you—

  forever

  on this day.

  In Twilight Skies

  In twilight skies

  we walk alone,

  to the dulcet beats

  of death’s metronome,

  a passing cloud

  beneath our feet,

  all starry-eyed

  our world complete.

  No falling tears

  from smiling eyes,

  no rainy days

  the puddles dry,

  this heaven found

  with life’s release,

  in happiness

  we dance

  in peace.

  In twilight skies

  we walk alone,

  to the dulcet beats

  of death’s metronome,

  a passing cloud

  beneath our feet,

  all starry-eyed

  our world repeats.

  No Regret

  You were my beautiful mistake and I don’t regret anything. I would do it all again in a heartbeat.

  Miami

  It was another beautiful day.

  A wonderful afternoon to be exact. All brilliant blue skies with a gentle touch of warm sunshine teasing and tickling the cool winter air. Not that it ever got really too cold here. There were only two real seasons of note, or so it seemed to me. One of which was apple-pie-oven hot and the other, a rather good imitation of a straight-from-the-fridge dark chocolate mousse.

  Water was bottled. Palm trees lined boulevards. The sea always sparkled and ridiculously fit girls with sun-bleached locks roller bladed along the crowded foreshore.

  How I ended up in this margarita-quenched Beach Boys utopia is another of life’s wacky conundrums. Why I decided to rip up my return ticket and stay was far less of a mystery.

  Like countless other romantic fools before me, I had succumbed to the oldest of boxed chocolates and flower bouquet clichés. I was hopelessly in love with a girl. Her name was Venus and she worked across the road in a bar that boasted sixty different types of tequila.

  We had fallen into each other’s arms three months ago to this day, one night after closing time at the bar, drowning our collective sorrows with endless chinking of shot glasses.

  It was a predictable ending to an extraordinary evening. Venus moaning, miniskirt hitched up, blue panties pulled down, her back pressed up against the storage room wall, as we fucked to a dawn chorus of singing birds and waking cicadas.

  A week later I had packed up my suitcase, checked out of the hotel, and moved into her one-bedroom apartment with balcony overlooking the beach.

  Domestic bliss and a loved-up couple routine quickly followed. Me writing during the mornings, she pouring drinks in the evenings. Our afternoons spent sitting on the dunes discussing the universe. Watching the waves write frothy sentences on the sand as glistening surfers jostled for position and wiped out in an explosion of thunderous blue.

  Weekends were extra special.

  Lazy punctuation points enjoyed with the blinds pulled down. Passing the time curled up in bed watching movies with a Hawaiian pizza and icy cold beers or fucking beneath a tangle of white cotton sheets.

  “What a gorgeous afternoon,” said Venus yawning as she handed me a coffee. My thoughts interrupted by this girl who held my heart in her slender fingers.

  She sat down next to me and stared out to the sea with sleepy eyes, pushing my typewriter to one side to make room for her coffee on the tiny glass table.

  “The radio said it might rain later,” I replied, watching a seagull land on the balcony.

  “Ha! I doubt it,” she laughed, taking my hands in hers.

  She was right of course.

  Every second spent basking in the warm glow of her smile and sparkling blue eyes was a beautiful day.

  Perfect, in fact.

  —

  “I have never felt the touch of falling snow,” she said. “But like love, I know it exists. Somewhere.”

  Seasons Change

  It was once our spring

  when lovers met,

  and flowers grew

  without regret.

  The summer passed

  as summers do,

  a setting sun

  my love for you.

  Each falling leaf

  a fallen tear,

  the autumn came

  with winter near.

  Now all that’s left

  of love is death,

  a story told

  with frozen breath.

  A Beautiful Night

  We lay on a bed of warm summer grass beneath a silent sky of sparkling stars.

  Our naked bodies lit by a waking moon that yawned and slowly rose up above the stillness of a breathless lake.

  My fingers gently tracing the letters of your name on wet skin.

  Your lips pressed against my neck.

  It was a beautiful night for falling in love.

  —

  “Nothing this perfect lasts forever,” she whispered. “Even our closest-kept memories eventually turn to dust.”

  Petals

  When our eyes met, all time ceased to exist. The dying seconds frozen like the petals of red roses kissed by autumn frost.

  Peppermint Tea

  My thoughts were interrupted by an angel disguised as a sprightly elderly man, with a surprisingly well-groomed gray beard and one eye that always seemed half asleep. He wore a silver Rolex on his wrist (another surprise), and walked with an awkward gait that suggested some kind of old leg injury. Some would ca
ll him a stranger; I only knew him as Chris.

  By now I knew the routine. A quick exchange of banter, which was always hard to follow due to his habit of discussing snippets of random wisdom, followed by an outstretched hand hoping for some small change or preferably a crumpled note from my pocket.