Ontology of Absurdity

And the most puerile of them all,
The futility of unrequited longing.
It is nothing but a self-destructive journey,
An irresistible exile into the pits of self-imposed torture.

But what path exists without its share of thorns.
What compassion would there be without suffering.
It is only those that have tasted the harsh buds of misfortune
That can cherish happiness in all its blooming transience.

And so, the burning urge to chase after it,
Despite this doomed awareness of short-lived joy, if at all.
But how meaningless this circle of life would otherwise be.
If not for such moments of utter stupidity and passion.