Had our tale been adequate?
Whereas life's unjustness clung onto our tails?
We reckoned life as a good hitcher on our side,
Howbeit betrayed us when we're too far gone to halt.

We danced among the sparks, amid the magic of desires.
A perfect illusion, we seemed like the fairest match;
'Thou were my honey bees as I was thy flowers.'
Yet weren't wings and petals distinct to each other?

I bled nectars and you weren't born with veins,
Though that was a matter I couldn't care less.
Yet you have queens to please,
albeit it must be for my lack of wings.
Still how long shall a heart suffer and understand things?

As truth woke us from our flawless fantasies.
I started to wither; too ugly to merit your visit,
So one day, you found no flowers nor vase on the terrace.
And not a single farewell slipped to rinse the dirtied surface.

Resent me It's alright, I would take the blame.
I now understood the imprudence of my deed,
For which I thought a favor I bestowed upon thee.
I by no means wished to be pardoned very soon,
For I was still the flower which roots kept it from flying.

Shall we abhor this boulder upon our shoulders?
Or beckon reality to befriend our sullen hearts?
Be that as it may, we shall see the hidden art:
Pollination arose after the piercing was done.

A bitter process beyond doubt, wasn't it?
Yet don't we have the sweetest honey out of it?
As someday at some land where my roots have never been,
Some flowers of mine will carelessly blossom and bloom splendidly.

So had our tale been adequate? Perhaps at some point, it had--
Perhaps if fate let us win, our paths might cross again,
And if it does, might the wind guide us onto a lovely mountain,
Where we could make our tale beyond adequate.