An Open Letter To: The Weathergods.

Dear weathergods,

I apologize.

In the past, I used to curse you. Maybe I still do. But that is because you always pour down the rain whenever I wanna head out, and most of the times, it was just moments before I head out, which I had loathed. Don’t misunderstood, it is not that I don’t like rain; in fact, I love it to the point of sadism, that I visualize the good half of me taking out a good storybook to read while sitting beside the window, with the raindrops crashing down on the glass outside – except that, there is no such location in my house, and I should totally stop dreaming of the fantasy of living in a nice cottage or something.

But for you to rain just before – this time, really minutes – I wanna play tennis on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Man, this is fucked up. You do realize I am not the exactly sporting fit kind, and a little bit of sports motivation being drained down by your downpour sure ticks me off. So please, be nice with me, for more bloody times, alright?

Peace and the right weather always,


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