Cupid is ubiquitous. I see his usual red rosy cheeks, his mischievous blue eyes and the whitewashed toga that he seems to favor. He carries a gilded gold bow with detailed carvings that chronicle the fall of Troy and a quiver of arrows strapped to the small of his back. His natural curly blonde hair, iridescent even under a sunless sky, is one of his more sparkling features yet.
I love it when he smiles at his charges. He seems almost sublime then. When he looks at me, however, his expression changes. I suspect he does not like what he sees. Is my level of stubbornness etched so distinctively around my face that he should bequeath his not so favourable look; or is it because that there's no hope for me and it is only my personal interpretation that his countenance indicates distaste than the sympathy it is and I so detests.
I love it when he smiles at his charges. He seems almost sublime then. When he looks at me, however, his expression changes. I suspect he does not like what he sees. Is my level of stubbornness etched so distinctively around my face that he should bequeath his not so favourable look; or is it because that there's no hope for me and it is only my personal interpretation that his countenance indicates distaste than the sympathy it is and I so detests.
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