You're the fickle mistress of an entire people. They worship you as if you were a goddess, they wait for you, long for you, plan for you, celebrate your arrival. What do you offer in return? Scorching heat or pouring rain. Mosquitoes, wasps, peeling skin, naked children, flipflops with socks, closed hospitals, caravans tipping on bridges, ice cream stained asphalt and arguments in cars.
No, summer, I'm not charmed. No flowers can compensate the autoreplies I get from e-mailing the university. No heat can justify me in a bikini on a square. I hate you, detest you, loathe you. You're the barbed wire I have to crawl through to get to the air at the end of the tunnel. Autumn, I will embrace you this year in ways I never have before.
No, summer, I'm not charmed. No flowers can compensate the autoreplies I get from e-mailing the university. No heat can justify me in a bikini on a square. I hate you, detest you, loathe you. You're the barbed wire I have to crawl through to get to the air at the end of the tunnel. Autumn, I will embrace you this year in ways I never have before.
As a mistress you have twisted their heads, summer. They can't see you for what you are, you lying good for nothing whore.
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