The cupid must be real, I pondered, as my eyes shifted to the side.
I saw her naked skin glow in the mellow light of the bedside lamp, like amber! And my fingers couldn’t resist reaching out for her messy hairs, which spread over her cheeks like a dark billow.
Our tryst is as ephemeral as the tide, I thought, amused by the philosophies my mind was conjuring in the silence of the midnight. I turned the light off, and in the darkness that followed, I couldn’t help but recall the parable of Hero and Leander.
(Hero and Leander were crazy in love. Every night, Hero lit up a lamp in her tower so that Leander can see the way and swim to her across the Hellespont. But one unfortunate night, a razing tempest blows out Hero’s lamp, and Leander gets lost in the dark and stormy waters of the Hellespont. Hero finds Leander’s dead body on the beach the next morning, and she just can’t take it. Overcome with grief, she throws herself from the top of her tower to be with her lover in death.)
In the uncomfortable darkness of the night, with dark allegories swarming the mind, it was the warmth of her supple skin which, like beacon, filled me with optimism. I saw the winged cupid dance to the music of midnight—his golden arrow piercing through my heart. And the winged angel smiled, and said, ‘Thy tryst is ephemeral. But so is life”