From the shadows, a cupid was sneaking up on a woman

Cupid aiming secretly — Cupid aiming from the shadows

I was weaving through the crowds of Ginza, drifting away from the main thoroughfare to escape the human tide. Ignoring the sterile brilliance of the luxury showrooms, my eyes were drawn instead to the shadows of a narrow side street. There, tucked away in the gloom, was a winged child.

He wasn't flesh and bone, of course, but a small bronze figure half-hidden against a stone wall. Clutching a diminutive bow, he held an arrow tipped with a cliché heart, frozen in the act of scouting for prey among the passersby. While one might mistake him for a harmless angel, the possession of such a volatile projectile marks him unmistakably as Cupid.

His gaze was fixed on a woman walking a few paces ahead, likely just finished with her afternoon shopping. She carried a crisp white paper bag—perhaps some designer brand—oblivious to the fact that she had been marked by a divine sniper. In Roman myth, this child is Cupid; to the Greeks, he was Eros. But regardless of his name, the god of love remained a hidden observer. The woman continued her pace, the rhythmic click of her heels echoing through the quiet afternoon, completely vulnerable to the bowman in the shadows.

I found myself wondering why he was so fixated on her. He stood there, bow drawn, yet showed no sign of releasing the string. Mythology tells us his quiver holds two types of trouble: golden arrows to kindle desire and leaden ones to invite aversion. Perhaps he was paralyzed by the choice, caught in a divine debate over which fate to bestow. Or perhaps, despite his steady aim, he was simply a coward—a god who watches his target intently but can never quite find the resolve to pull the trigger.

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