'Hey. How're you doing?' and the lines that follow, A second-rate farce aimed at personal gains. The lackluster eyes often fails to see the deceit, The heart falls for the momentary jolt of escape. Hither and thither the facade stretches, Before the subtle hints for the favour are dropped. The arrow seems to miss its mark entirely, initially, But it swerves and strikes; between the scars. The hamartia of redamancy often exploited, Yet the tired soul refuses to enlighten itself. With renowned zest it partakes in the trade, But the redamancy sours into unrequited love. Aphrodite seems to smile wryly; unflinching. The broken shards of the heart lacerate the flesh, Piecing them back together; another herculean task. Heart restored, smile restored; months fly by. The soul waits patiently despite the scars, For those small moments indeed are happy.