I hate riddles. So it seems.

When I got the sundown, I got the moon, 
When I got the sunshine, I lost you.
In pitch black you brighten, In bright light you move,
 you give me a flower when I got the blues
riddle me this
and
I see you.
So why move when the flowers bloom.
Move my heart and so I gloom.
Return it and I say thanks
But why,why am I still Blank.
Cause the inks spills and covers what was writen
In bright light it dries but it won't ever, ever, ever return.

In riddles I made a poem in a poem there's a riddle. And guess what? in the riddles the answer is you.