Sorry, but I have to break up with you. I can’t stand your fickleness. Every time I let myself be seduced by your warmth, and I think it’s okay to open my heart and come out and play and bask in your warm regard, you turn a cold shoulder – frosty, even. And that frostiness kills. I can’t stand to have my heart broken by you again. I can’t allow myself to be seduced by your promises. I just can’t take that risk; it’s too painful. Besides, I’ve met someone else called Summer. And he promises me warmth. There is nothing frosty about him. I wish you the best, Spring, but we are done.