Why does hurt come from the one you most love?
Why are people the way they are?
Why do people stick to their judgments?
Why have I been thinking I’m not enough?

Everyday the moon dozes and the sun rises,
The clouds shift their paths,
The pollens migrate from flower to flower,
Hoping they’d find a scent at last.

Poor things, disappointed each time,
And yearn for something that isn’t there.
Little did they know,
That the flower really never cared.

How amusing to know,
We all do the same.
While pollens search for scent,
Humans take pleasure in pain.
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