maybe i fell in love with cupid’s archer 

and‌ this was a prophecy, 

but for you, my passion was always here.

always definite, i never needed to become struck by an arrow 

try to fathom each word i speak. try to interpret each phrase,

you know entirely well, just as cupid has given his soul to those arrows.

i pour my soul into my words, and you said that’s what caused cupid to say

we are immune to such calls. you do not take an interest in anyone. Yet i find love in everyone. but the petals of the flowers never quite stay after they express the same.

you draw people in without trying, like the arrows surrounding you go off without asking.

i have no arrows. i suppose i'm always the one struck, though typically they’re plastic or simply not genuine, but you gave me an arrow by choice.