This isn't working out.
Newsflash: It's Spring. That's your cue to go, but once again, you've overstayed your welcome.
Sure, we had the occasional good time. You were sort of charming at Christmas. Sledding that one day was kind of fun. And I enjoyed those drinks by the fire in my flannel pajamas. But I thought you always understood that I wasn't serious about pursuing anything with you.
Don't look so surprised.
The point is, we aren't compatible.
Also, don't draw this thing out. No lingering, hoping I'll change my mind. I won't. In fact, I'd prefer it if you don't come around for a long, long time. I've tried to just be friends, but -- can we get real? -- you're a pain in the ass with serious attachment issues.
I can only imagine how New Englanders feel about you now. You came on way too strong this year. What's with you and the Polar-Vortex-Siberian-Express-snow-for-months-on-end bullcrap?
Oh, geez. You're upset. That explains this whole "out like a lion" March thing. Look, it's not all bad. I sort of admire you for being true to yourself and owning it, but to everything there is a season, and it's time to turn! turn! turn!
It's not you, Winter. It's...
Sigh. I can't lie.
It's totally freaking you.
I'll leave the ice scrapers and gloves by the door.
I know Summer won't answer my calls yet (I've been trying since January. Does that make me look too eager?), so I'm going to see if Spring wants to hook up this weekend, maybe show me some blossoms.
Good riddance, Winter.
Don't let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya.