I think we're breaking up. You've been my favorite month for as long as I can remember, but it's just not the same. You see, I've been disappointed in you for a long time...
It all started when I moved to Texas. I spent the long, hot summer waiting for you and your beautiful changing colors. I anticipated the cool temperatures and the days spent in layers and boots. I longed for the cold wind scattering the crunchy leaves, and I changed over my wardrobe to my warm, snuggly clothing.
But you didn't come. Or, at least, not the way you used to. Yes, the calendar read October, but the weather still read mid-June. Temperatures crept into the 90's each day, and the humidity turned my beautifully straightened hair into a lion's mane each day. The only wind was a stale one that felt like the breath of Sheol as opposed to a refreshing gust.
I gave you a few years to get with the program. I griped to everyone who'd listen about how October is my favorite month, and I mentioned that you needed to stop all this nonsense and get back to normal and let me have my pumpkins and crispness and apple orchards (oh, wait - no orchards, either). When I should have been crunching leaves, I was trampling on dead pine needles, withered from the heat. When I should have been bundling against the cold, I was sweating like a full-grown man. I tried to wait it out and let you right yourself, but I came to a realization.
It's not me. It's you, October. You can't be the October that I remember from my youth and fell in love with so long ago, because in Texas, we can't be together. You are something different here, and it's time for me to choose a new favorite. I haven't locked myself in to a new number one month, yet, but this has been a long time coming. We have to part ways, but I'll always remember what we had together in Illinois (and Ohio... and Indiana...).