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.