The day she walked into my life I stood crushed and alone. Above me the sun was shining, a light breeze swaying the highest branches, casting dancing shadows upon the autumn ground, on a cool, crisp Sunday afternoon. As birds soaring through the cloudless sky sung their songs they mocked my heartache. A bouquet of freshly cut red roses hung loose in my shaking, tear moistened hand.
The park I was standing in had always been a place for romance. On the same day, for more years than I could count on a hand, I had come to that spot with the same red-headed beauty; she who was meant to be the love of my life. We would commemorate our love, the day on which we first embraced, the way it had begun all those years ago. Other couples would do the same, hands and lips intertwined. It was a noisy place, but we were always alone, deep within our own world. That Sunday was to be our last.
But as i stood with no one by my side, feeling as though I would never move again, I was stroke in the heart by the arrow of lies.
I saw her, in some strange way, before she even came into view. My eyes were quickly drawn to a wall, just seconds before the most beautiful woman I had ever seen walked around the corner.
She was casually dressed, but her style somehow gave her all the sophistication of a European monarch, her long, chocolate brown hair flowing over a bright yellow jumper. Her eyes were the first thing i noticed, big, green and beautiful like a doe from deep within the emerald forest, and as they met mine I felt all of my wounds heal. My heart had been broken in little more than a beat, but in one look she fixed me.
This may sound like the end of a love story, but in fact it’s just the start of a horror. From the moment the fates threw us together we were star-cross’d, doomed to be parted at my own hand. I feel in love with her, a love that was spawned farther within me than anyone had ever been, but deeper still lay an evil just waiting to be unleashed.
Love bores deep and places itself inside our hearts, feeding its poisons and casting its magics to blind our eyes from the truth. Cupid himself is but a demon, unangelic, impure, his true nature hidden by the brushstrokes of artists throughout time. He is a trickster revelling in the knowledge of the indirect evil he is committing. Through dumb eyes lovers stare, infatuated, ignorant to the boils, scars, and pulsating welts that cover the face of their beloved; the hag that receives the delicate touch of their obsession.
As Cupid’s arrow tears through lonely flesh and raises heartbeat he masks the truth and casts on the mind an illusion of perfection. For many love is blind, a sublime mirage, but for me it was a new kind of honesty