Look, I get it, Summer.

You're hot and you know it. Bright and happy and sunshiny, with beautiful blue above and full of life below. Long and lean and warm, and you're always ready. Always wanting another day, another week; hell, another month, and you can stay wet for all of it. And God, you're wet. Not dripping, not usually, but moist and hot, right there in the depths of you, and it feels so good once in a blue moon when I'm inside you, the sweat dripping off me like I've swam an ocean to be with you.

But you know what?

Fuck you.

I'm sick of your crazy swings, from the highest highs to nights when you're freezing, but oh no, the next morning you're already bright and cheery and doing all you can to make me sweat again. And you do it to everyone- I can see the looks around me, the rolled eyes and flushed skin and the look that I know means they're feeling you too.

I was planning to have a nice weekend- without you. Someplace cool and calm, but you had to just blaze back into my life, bringing with it the sweat and the groans and the sleeping naked without sheets. You're hot, I'll give you that, and always so, so moist, so bright it makes my heart hurt, but- Seriously?

You're too hot, and frankly, a bit of a bitch. I want to be able to go somewhere and spend a day where I don't want to just rip my clothes off. Where I don't end up sweating in the night, or feeling like the days are always about you, even when I'm curled up alone, or where things don't go sour in my mouth from how fucking hot you can be.

So Summer?

Fuck you; I'm sick of your shit.