One: Cupid’s aim is getting progressively worse.
Two: The shot pierced through my heart and sent ripples down my veins, traveled past my rationality and ricocheted in the chambers. I am not quite sure if they could handle another guest – the echoing tends to transpose itself as a musical score that converts its rhythm as my pulse, inserts its melody into my train of thought and forces its lyrics back down my throat.
Three: I hope you don’t like daisies because I’ve been playing so much “he loves me, he loves me lots” that it leaves my fondest memories scented and my wildest daydreams vanilla white.
Four: I also hope you have a pollen allergy.
Five: I liked the ambitious side to you where you pursue only the best, reach only for the beau idéal and touch only the fringes of perfection; and there is no part in you that learned to love me.
*Inspired by Kiana Lede’s “Ex” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R2BHcfwXJXM&t=1s).
Still I Rise 