When I’m looking out the window, seeing the tiny raindrops hit the window, I can only ask myself if you’re thinking of me.

If only there were only a little less wind, this would be my favorite weather.

I must’ve told you this a thousand times or more. I think that’d be the definitive test, right? Just to see if you forgot about me.

I guess this is the season for this sort of weather.

Internally I can’t wait for the Summer. And I can’t help but hate myself for it. Why?

Well, because it’s your favorite time of year.

This kind of impatience has made me realize one more thing.

Waiting for the Summer is like waiting for you. The only difference that comes to mind is that I can depend on Summer to come around, but all I get is mixed feelings and insecurities with you.

When the hell will my Summer come?