In love's tapestry, a tale unfolds,
Where Cupid, the archer, his story molds.
A fateful day, his aim went astray,
The wrong arrow struck, leading hearts astray.
A quiver full of arrows, each with a role,
One for passion, the other for the soul.
But Cupid, in haste, confused his art,
Shot the wrong arrow, tearing love apart.
In the labyrinth of emotions, I found my way,
Entangled in love's web, where shadows play.
The arrow meant for joy pierced my heart,
Yet sorrow's seed grew, tearing love apart.
A tragic chapter, my love story unfolds,
As pain and heartache, in its pages, molds.
Cupid's error, a twist in the plot,
A love story woven, then tangled in a knot.
People say it's a folklore, a tale to be told,
Of love's missteps, where hearts grow cold.
A saga of pain, with a sad, bitter end,
Yet in its telling, generations transcend.
For love's not always a tale of delight,
Sometimes it's pain that colors the night.
A twisted arrow, a love story's bend,
A folklore passed on, from friend to friend.
So, in the echoes of the cupid's wrong aim,
A love story born from sorrow and pain.
A folklore woven in the fabric of time,
A cautionary tale of love's subtle rhyme.
Nov 20, 2023
Nov 20, 2023 at 9:12 AM UTC
In love's tapestry, a tale unfolds,
Where Cupid, the archer, his story molds.
A fateful day, his aim went astray,
The wrong arrow struck, leading hearts astray.
A quiver full of arrows, each with a role,
One for passion, the other for the soul.
But Cupid, in haste, confused his art,
Shot the wrong arrow, tearing love apart.
In the labyrinth of emotions, I found my way,
Entangled in love's web, where shadows play.
The arrow meant for joy pierced my heart,
Yet sorrow's seed grew, tearing love apart.
A tragic chapter, my love story unfolds,
As pain and heartache, in its pages, molds.
Cupid's error, a twist in the plot,
A love story woven, then tangled in a knot.
People say it's a folklore, a tale to be told,
Of love's missteps, where hearts grow cold.
A saga of pain, with a sad, bitter end,
Yet in its telling, generations transcend.
For love's not always a tale of delight,
Sometimes it's pain that colors the night.
A twisted arrow, a love story's bend,
A folklore passed on, from friend to friend.
So, in the echoes of the cupid's wrong aim,
A love story born from sorrow and pain.
A folklore woven in the fabric of time,
A cautionary tale of love's subtle rhyme.
how the cupid used the wrong arrow on me, my love story is full of pain who has a sad end
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