You may take all your grey days in this grey city and shove it up... whatever. I can hardly wait for green, never ending green and grass that waves under the wind. I want blue to meet this green and I want to feel the sun almost burn my skin and hear the millions of bugs around me as I sit in a hammock with a good book. So screw you, April, with your thunderstorms and religious holidays and your false hopes for rebirth, when all you gave me was a slight depression. I'm heading towards shorts and straw hats, lemonades in the shade and ice cream whenever the hell I want to, towards the end of this damn semester and no more gloomy afternoons. I'm writing to say goodbye, April, as you were bound to hit the road anyway. But see you next year, and please bring flowers and hypnotically fresh air next time, instead of Thursdays I can hardly get out of bed.