Elaine sat alone at the bar.

Dear Cupid,

Would you take it easy? I’m an open target and clearly in your way. Stop shooting at me. Is that so hard to ask? Although, I know, sometimes I’m knocking on your door. But this time I mean it! Scram! Shoo! I don’t want you around no more, yahear? Take a look at me–I’m punctured! Holes all in me. I think that’s why I have this feeling, like melting, I’m sinking. Would you give me some time to recuperate at least? I’ll need at least a week. Leave me alone for a week, wontcha?

Listen, I know… In a few weeks, once I heal up a bit, I’ll start to miss your ways. I’ll send you mad texts. I’m a bad, bad girl and I want you to hurt me. Put me back in the field, buddy! Here I am! And I’ll get shot! Bit! All over again, like an addict sneaking out to a get a hit….
mmmmmmm, but it feels so good.
mmmmmmm, punctured like veins.

You don’t want to be the cause of my addiction, do ya? Don’t want that on your angelic conscious. Save your arrows for more deserving folk. People all around me seem to be falling in love. You shoot me and it doesn’t stick. The arrow hangs there around then falls limp. Why won’t it stay? (Why don’t they stay?) What is that you’re shooting with? A fucking Nerf gun??

I think it’s your fault. It’s your damn arrows. Maybe you have bad timing. Shooting them when I just so happen to eye a loser. Oh, man… This guy doesn’t have a car. I think he’s perfect.

Truth is, I love you, Cupid. Take your arrow and slap me on the ass with it. I just wanna love Love. But I’m beginning to hate you. I’m writing you to tell you that. I resent you for all the times you’ve hit me. Hit me and told me this time would be different. Oh, I tell myself that, too. But this time I think I’ve learned my lesson. I’m DONE with you. I don’t want any more of it. All these guys, could flip through them by closing my eyes. They come and go, come and go. I’ve noticed how they keep coming. I’m afraid I’ll run out of luck. I pick up a card and say Next! So many choices… So I’m beggin ya! Stop dealing!

Or maybe they’re the ones who are hit. And I’m the one who got in the way.

Maybe that’s what you meant in your letter when you said, “GTFO my way bitch, Im tryna make people fall in love & ur ass keeps ruining it.”

Maybe all these wounds are because I keep tripping. I’m not punctured, I’m bruised. Look at my legs and call me a Georgia Peach!
Chasing love and tripping.
Why do you keep running away from me?

Maybe that’s what you meant when you wrote, “Wait ur turn.”

Maybe it’s not my turn.

-xoxo

I never really realized how weirdly obsessed I am with guys. I’ve been keeping a diary for a couple years now and it’s mostly about dudes. lol My best writing is when I’m talking romance. Like I KNOW I WAS DOING OTHER SHIT WHY WASNT I WRITING ABOUT THAT TOO??

Jesus. Get your shit together, girl.
(Working on it.)

Started the beginning scene of a story idea I’ve been sitting on. This is like the fourth version of the beginning. I can’t get passed it. But I want to tell this story.

I want to focus on my work instead of my relationships. Is that so hard to ask?

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