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.


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