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?