Summer of Lamentations

Every summer comes to me as a paradox.

The love, the hope, and the fear and loathing.

I miss waking up and seeing the sun, not the insufferable humid after taste it drags along its blazing tail.

I miss the warmth and the dryness of the Mojave, yet often times I only get sporadic showers and thunderstorms.

Summer is a nuisance.

Summer is my inspiration.

My exotic thoughts and dreams weave into life.

Serve me another round of mojito,

As I aimlessly jot down these words I so desperately trying to make sense of; since we are going to be here for a while, to put on this play of life we love to hate.