Cupid Is Tired
Cupid has not been young for a very long time.
The wings remain. The bow remains. The myth remains.
But the glow left centuries ago.
He remembers when love was dangerous in a beautiful way — when mortals carved promises into trees and meant them, when letters crossed oceans and arrived folded with salt and trembling hope. Back then, his arrows were unnecessary half the time. He only nudged what already burned.
Now?
He scrolls.
He watches.
He fires.
They fall fast. They burn fast. They leave faster.
Cupid is tired.
I. The Metrics of Modern Love
He keeps records. Not because he must — but because he cannot help it.
Year 1123:
Two bakers in Florence. Married forty-seven years. Shared a single oven. Shared grief. Shared silence. Success.
Year 1642:
A pirate and a cartographer. Disastrous. Magnificent. Both died smiling. Success.
Year 1998:
College sweethearts. Broke up over a voicemail. Failure.
Year 2013:
Met on an app. Married in spring. Divorced by winter. Blamed “timing.” Failure.
The failures now outnumber the successes.
Cupid once believed his work was sacred. Now it feels algorithmic.
He aims. He releases. They ignite. They confuse attachment with possession. Projection with intimacy. Loneliness with destiny.
He has watched humans fall in love with the idea of love more than with each other.
It exhausts him.
II. The Decision
On the morning of February 14th — a day that used to feel ceremonial and now feels commercial — Cupid makes a decision.
He will retire.
No announcement. No ceremony. Just absence.
Let the humans manage their own chaos.
He removes the quiver from his back. Only one arrow remains.
The last arrow hums softly — older than the others. He had been saving it. For what, he never knew.
He considers destroying it.
Instead, he descends.
III. The Random Choice
He does not choose a couple.
He does not choose a wedding.
He does not choose someone lonely on purpose.
He lands in a city café at 3:17 p.m., invisible as always.
He scans the room.
- A woman arguing softly into her phone.
- A teenager staring at a screen, face blank.
- An elderly man reading a book he isn’t really reading.
- A barista moving mechanically, steam hissing like a tired sigh.
Cupid closes his eyes.
Random, he decides.
The arrow leaves his fingers without aim.
It does not glow.
It does not spark.
It disappears into the chest of the barista.
And nothing happens.
Cupid frowns.
He waits.
Still nothing.
No dramatic glance across the room.
No sudden magnetic pull.
No swelling music.
He feels irritation rise.
Perhaps the arrow has weakened with age.
Perhaps he has.
IV. The Shift
At 3:22 p.m., the barista pauses mid-pour.
She looks up.
Not at someone.
At everything.
The café feels different.
The arguing woman — her voice shakes, not from anger but from fear. She keeps saying, “I just don’t want to lose you.”
The teenager’s blank stare isn’t apathy. It’s grief. There’s a hospital bracelet hidden under their sleeve.
The old man’s book is upside down.
The barista notices something else.
Her coworker, who always teases her for being slow, quietly remakes a drink she messed up earlier — without telling her.
A regular customer places exact change on the counter every day because he knows she struggles with math under pressure.
Her phone vibrates in her apron pocket.
Three unread messages from her sister.
She almost ignores them.
Instead, she opens one.
“Call me when you can. I miss you.”
The words feel heavier than usual. Not dramatic. Just true.
The café has not changed.
Her vision has.
Cupid feels it then.
The arrow did not misfire.
It never forced love.
It revealed it.
V. The Revelation
Across the city, small shifts ripple outward.
The barista texts her sister.
The teenager looks up and notices the elderly man’s book is upside down — and gently corrects him.
The arguing woman lowers her voice and says, “I’m scared, that’s all.”
No one falls in love.
No one confesses dramatically.
No violins.
But something subtle rearranges.
People begin seeing the invisible threads already tied between them.
The arrow did not create love.
It removed distortion.
Cupid watches, stunned.
For centuries, he thought humans needed ignition.
What they needed was clarity.
VI. The Memory
Cupid remembers something he had long buried.
The first time he fell in love.
Yes — Cupid once loved.
Not a goddess. Not a muse. A mortal.
She could not see him, but she felt him. She used to sit alone beneath olive trees and speak aloud as if someone listened. He did.
He never shot her with an arrow.
He never interfered.
He simply watched her love her friends fiercely, forgive easily, grieve honestly.
She did not need magic.
She perceived love everywhere.
He left her untouched.
She lived fully.
She died peacefully.
He had forgotten that.
VII. The Retirement That Wasn’t
Cupid looks at his empty hands.
No bow. No arrows. Just centuries of assumption undone.
Perhaps love was never about manufacture.
Perhaps it was about perception.
He does not retrieve the arrow.
It has dissolved into the city — not as a spell, but as a reminder.
Cupid stretches his wings.
He does not retire.
But he changes his craft.
No more forcing collisions.
No more sparking infatuation disguised as destiny.
From now on, he will nudge awareness.
A glance that lingers not because of chemistry, but because of recognition.
A pause before a harsh word.
A second look at someone already standing beside you.
VIII. Valentine’s Evening
At 11:59 p.m., the barista locks the café.
She calls her sister.
They talk for an hour.
Nothing spectacular is said.
But when she walks home, the city feels warmer.
Not because someone new is waiting.
Because she realizes she was never as alone as she believed.
High above, unseen, Cupid exhales.
For the first time in centuries, he does not feel tired.
He feels lighter.
Love, he finally understands, is rarely absent.
It is merely unnoticed.
And sometimes, the greatest arrow is not the one that makes two strangers fall —
but the one that lets you see who has been loving you all along.
❤️
💘 The truest arrow doesn’t make you fall—it helps you finally see. 💘
Note:
Thank you for reading “Cupid Is Tired”! This is a story in a series created for avid readers and English learners who want to enjoy captivating tales while practicing their language skills. Stay tuned for more stories and language tips to enhance your journey!
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