They will love you like a British summer. Their affections will be sprung on you suddenly, either too soon or too late, but never on time, and they won't last. For a few days, they'll draw you in, and make you believe that it will always be like this, and then they will bring in higher forces, and they will turn your paper plans into pulp in the rain. They'll feel guilty, and come back once or twice, in an effort to subdue the voices in their head that declare they're unjust, and then they'll stop trying. You'll miss them for a while, long for something that never could have lasted the cruel winds that blow humanity away with the warm weather and leave only selfishness, but eventually you'll stop caring. You won't forget, but you'll adjust to the winter, and when they roll over again, declaring that this time will be different, you'll believe them, so bored by the mundanity of the rainfall that you'll accept anything.
The charm, the bookish feel that you fell for the first time will make you trip from your high hill and have you tumble into the valley, further than you've ever been, and this time when it rains again, the water will collect at the bottom of the valley and you'll drown. And of course, you'll blame yourself, because you should have known not to let the short-lived, sweaty, sweltering summer lead you down into the valley.
And yet, when the year comes a full circle and the vicious British summer announces it's return, you'll fall right into their arms.
I was told to write about loving someone as you would a British summer, and while quite a few people went in the direction of "beautiful, romantic", I decided on this instead. Enjoy!