Cupid’s Broken Heart
You can’t help who you love.
Cupid fell in love the way tides come to the shore: he could not help himself from being drawn by the sway and pull of a force greater than himself.
The reasons were numerous. Sometimes his heart would trip over itself in response to the most beautiful smile he had ever remembered seeing. Other times he would glimpse a woman untying her hair, and the scent of her shampoo meeting his nostrils would make his head dizzy with want. But the moments were scattered and senseless. Even things that humans got hung up on — like gender and sexual orientation — did not matter to him, especially since he had perfected shape-shifting some decades ago.
The infatuation of the moment was a young barista who could barely get through making a simple latte without scalding herself. Her clumsiness might have deterred other prospects, but something about the softness of her voice made his gaze linger a little longer upon her when he got his coffee fix in the mornings. And her smile — ah, bards might have written ballads for such a thing once upon a time.
When she collected his money one morning, his fingertips brushed against hers for just the barest of moments. Then she blinked, a flush coming to her cheeks, before she stammered out his change due and practically threw the coins and receipt back at him…
