Cupid is sometimes a really bad shot, his arrow piercing only one of the two hearts that meet. He either needs to practice more or maybe it’s his cruel intention all along to make one suffer as the other escapes, oblivious to the destiny he had just changed. After all, no one ever said Cupid was an angel.

That is my destiny it seems: the one with the pierced heart, forever suffering from unrequited love. After a period the thought of one man should bring nothing more than “Can I still spell his name correctly?”

Instead, thoughts of him twisting my heart with his words haunt me, driving me mad knowing no one else has that effect on me. In quiet echoes I hear his heartbeat, steady and in sync with mine. It is improbable, I tell myself, that he is also thinking of me at this moment. There are way too many moments that should never be and yet is, stretching to years.

How could Cupid be so heartless? The poison of his arrow should have lasted only days if it did not hit both marks. He might as well have made it a death arrow, for my love goes unresolved, unsatisfied, and unobserved. It is too much work constantly reminding myself of all the things wrong with the man I love and how he is wrong for me. My logic is no power against the wound that still bleeds my life away.

Alas, no matter how hard I try the poison remains. The life of my heart resides in him, and he is unaware. No man has ever affected me in greater depth than he and continues to do so even without his presence. He is and forever shall be my greatest love. Such is the destiny of Cupid’s missed arrow.