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Monday, June 24, 2024

A Hungry Soul

2 min readThey're bound for heartbreak but blessed with love. A heart aching after beating for someone for so long, their tears a memoir of a future that became a memory.
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Published 4 months ago on February 13, 2024

by Ixidorre Cajucom


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Artwork by Erimae Lopez/TomasinoWeb


I've always admired the God of Love, Son of Aphrodite. The glee I experienced when he offered me to be his apprentice was beyond words. I watch as he sorts his arrows, lead to the left and gold to the right. I've heard whispers, rumors. They say he's doomed. Some say he's blessed. He's Eros, for crying out loud, made of love and beauty. What more could he wish for?

As of late, he's talking about retirement, passing the mantle to me, and such. He even lets me draw the bow back and strike our targets. To whomever that boy was for, please excuse my lack of proficiency. I didn't mean to delay your meeting. But when you did, what bliss, right?

As the arrow hit its mark, I waited for his reaction, a moment of approval and praise. Instead, I saw longing as his eyes locked in on the young couple. Maybe he's just happy for them, and I'm reading this wrong.

Countless more arrows, filled with love and disdain, and yours truly finally took over. He sat me down on a hill far from human gaze and handed me his bows and arrows. Admiring it under the sunset's golden light, I thanked him. It was pretty confusing when he replied, “No. Thank you.”.

I finally figured it out as I flew to the same city 50 years later. My eyes catch the silhouette of my mentor talking to a woman named Psyche. His eyes had that same glimmer as the couple that I struck with the golden arrow with. The same one I can't have. Not for another 450 years.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown, so they said. Being Cupid is not a blessing. Nor a curse. After meddling with mortal affairs for quite some time, I can't help but admire them. It put some things into perspective.

They're bound for heartbreak but blessed with love. A heart aching after beating for someone for so long, their tears a memoir of a future that became a memory.

Aren't they just lucky? Living arts.

I'd like to know what that's like—being loved. I'm wanted, demanded. But not loved. We don't have the luxury. That's our punishment for the pain bound to happen to those whose fates lie on our arrows and bow. But a man can dream.

A deep well forms in my stomach as reality sets in. I am a giver of love, meant to carry the burden of bestowing what I can't obtain. Always the giver, never the receiver. Never the one that's loved.


Valentine's Day


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Ixidorre Cajucom

Stories Writer

Ixidorre Mikhaila S. Cajucom was a Stories Writer at TomasinoWeb and is currently a varsity player for UST Tigersharks. Ixi's main interests revolve around pop culture, fiction books, animals, Formula 1, and confectionery. When not writing or swimming, she likes to play with her dogs, catch-up on her books and personal writing, and –most importantly– go to sleep.


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