this weeks forecast:
As I write this letter, there’s a mighty thunderstorm roiling about. Looking back, you poured buckets of your tears on us, then you shined your obnoxious sunshine on us, and now you’re crying a river on us. Again. Oh, and don’t forget the hair-raising humidity.
Although, I must say– if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have:
a) seen the rainbow at CitiField when the Mets went against the Diamondbacks at the end of July and
b) seen the beautiful set of clouds that looked like they came from a Monet painting back in June when I was in Hell’s Kitchen.
This is the only reason why you get two stars, sucka.
With no love this time around,
I thought it was me.
The reason why I don’t feel up to par and less happy.
The reason why I am so pale w/o tan.
The reason why I sweat like a pig.
But, it was you.
You have changed……. Where on earth is wrong with you?
I miss Summer of 69, even though I wasn’t even born.
Sorry, I couldn’t love you just the way you are and even started seeing someone else…………
His name is Fall, by the way.
P.S. My cats told me the other day that it was also YOU why their litter box is smellier than usual.