Dear Cupid, I Hate You

I don’t want to be a hopeless romantic anymore. To be a hopeless romantic, you must have hope, and I’m running out of it. I have been for a long time now.

I understand that, ‘on paper,’ I am perfect for the role of a hopeless romantic. I am, after all, a writer and a dreamer. You pegged me correctly. I cannot fault you for that. I love romance, I do. I love, love. What can I say? I can’t help it. It’s true. Down to my very core, but I hate not having it more. I hate it so much that I am beginning to despise all those who do, and as you well know, this cannot be. And it is with this growing hatred that I find the role untenable.

How can a hopeless romantic like me despise love? No, no, no. It cannot be.

I need you to understand what it feels like for a hopeless romantic to live their best years in the absence of the one thing they crave most. Imagine that. The person who loves romance the most living without it and doing so while they are at their peak hotness. How dare you. I will never look this good again.

I don’t know what I have done to deserve such a cruel and twisted fate, but I resent you for it. I used to idolise you. Cupid. The giver of love and maker of dreams. Now I see you as you truly are. A cruel and mischievous con-baby that takes joy in the heartbreak of others. Or is it just me that you have chosen to treat so cruelly?

Do you have any idea how it feels to live with a hole inside of you that can never be filled? And no, I do not mean physically; quit your childish snigger. This is no laughing matter. There is a hole, not in my heart, but in my soul, and you put it there. Why? What is it that you want from me? Surely I have given you enough? You could fill lakes with my tears. Cover them with love boats that will never sink because, like the Dead Sea, love is dead to me.

There is one thing that I need to know before I go. If I was not put on this earth to fall in love, then why am I here? To bear witness to the love of others? To be forever on the sidelines of life’s greatest stories? No, I think not. I decline. I refuse.

Emily Henry said, “A cynic is a romantic who’s too scared to hope.” You see, even when I try to quit from this role you have forsaken me, I still quote romance. That is the curse you have bestowed upon me, but no more. I am a changed man. I am not the same as when I was younger and full of hope. I am now a cynic, and that’s on you.

While I will be resigning from my role of Hopeless Romantic, I will continue to read romance novels, but I will no longer cry when the love interests finally get together or when one of them does something undeniably sweet. I refuse to feel that tug in my heart when I see an old couple holding hands. I will no longer float on the love of others like a house of balloons. Yes, I am referencing Up. I will not return my references. At your displeasure, I will retain my love of love just to spite you. Confused? Good. You should be. You are no longer in charge of my life because I, Sir Cupid, quit. Q-U-I-T.

From now on, I shall carry a new title: Hopeless Romantic

That’s right. I refuse to quit romance. I will not let you win. I am taking my stand. I shall no longer be hopeless in love because I shall embody the word of hopelessness. You gasp! As well you should. I wouldn’t dare? I would! I am at the end of my despair. My hope is battered and bruised, so take it. Keep it and leave me with nothing. I don’t want it.

Do you know how it feels to be trapped in a life without romance? No. I doubt you care, but I am tired of feeling alone. No, not alone. That’s not what it is. I am comfortable alone. In fact, I am good at it. Better than most. I have had to be. And no, that is not thanks to you. I have no thanks to give you. It is thanks to me that I have learned to survive in this harsh, loveless world that you’ve given me. Let me try to explain it better. Have you ever stood at the mercy of nature’s divine beauty and felt only longing? Longing for someone special to share it with so you can hold onto the moment and keep it forever. Do you know how many beautiful moments I have lost to the feeling of loneliness? No, I don’t suppose you do. It is too many to count.

Don’t get me wrong. I love being a romantic. I can find beauty in almost anything, but now I struggle to hold onto it in the absence of hope. A hope that I can one day have everything I have ever dreamed of, and I’m too scared to continue holding onto it. So I say, “Give me beauty without yearning.” Make me numb to the longing. Strike the wings from my heart so it can no longer flutter. Starve the butterflies in my stomach and the frog in my throat. My hope for romance is the only thing that will croak. This is how I survive, by removing the ache from the pit of my stomach. It is the only way forward.

Without hope, I can be happy for my friends without resentment. I can feel no shame when I am asked why I’m still single. I can stop the playback of failed opportunities that’s been on a loop in my head for the best part of two decades. Yes, that’s how long you’ve been playing your cruel game. You may not age, silly baby man, but I do. I see past your cuteness. Now I see the truth. There is nothing wrong with me. It was you who made me hopeless. You stole my moments. I didn’t fail. That can’t be true because if it were, I could not bear it.

So from here forth, I will walk away from love. Because if I cannot have it all, I don’t want it. It is all or nothing. So, give me nothing, and I will embrace it wholly.

Yours Sincerely

A Romantic Without Hope

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© Simon George 2025. All Rights Reserved.

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