Let it rain, let it rain, let it rain.
Oh, let my being be soaked after many months of warmth, let me be engulfed by your drops that cover me all over. Let me be such and be that and be this and whatever unimaginable things that you have an empty promise of. My life revolves around June 10-12 (I live in Mumbai and MRF does not release a quarter page ad for MRF Rain day anymore) – but hey – it is romantic this rain and all – let me drench in it.
When summer was here I disagreed with everything and everyone. I cursed and I bled (actually, I only perspired) – but that’s me – emotional exaggeration is my name. That summer fellow who came before you, was such a nasty guy.
I’ll forgive everything else that you cause – 4-hour traffic jams and such. Even when you squelch my life where it becomes an undecipherable blob of wetness. I am in love with you. More than I am in love with him (or her, but usually him, in this context) Being in love with you allows me to be in love. Per se.
Love, apparently, is not for all seasons.