Editor’s Note: Dear Summer, I Gotta Leave You

Editor's Note: Dear Summer, I Gotta Leave You

Dear Summer, I know you’ve been good to me. The fun of our fling is a thing that won’t leave me quickly. We’ve had our moments, memorable and indelible, to cement this season as better than the last. But – sorry, yes there’s a but – the flame has fizzled, I’m starting to drift a little and it’s best we just leave things at the crest of what’s good, rather than find both of ourselves at the bottom of it. Oh, and I’m really missing my bomber jacket and Timbs.


Look, don’t get me wrong, you’re great and supremely unique in your own way. I mean what other season allows for the normal flaunting of skin from all sexy types, while simultaneously making it okay to eat ice cream at any hour of the day without anybody’s mama to tell us to stop such nonsense? See, no one. No other season can do that, so yeah, you’ve totally got that going for you. No doubt, you literally bring out the best in everyone – they’re preparing for you in gyms all over the globe months before your actual arrival. All because they want to look their very best for you!

Aw c’mon, don’t do that. There’s more to you, really.

Let’s see, besides what I mentioned already, you also come correct with the music festival season and all other outdoor festivities to make sure we all go out and enjoy each others company to the very fullest. We vibed our way through the season together, from Coachella to Bumbershoot, you had me feeling all kinds of ways from all the live music you had to offer. Summer, you are FUN – unequivocally and unabashedly in an innumerable amount of ways! Trust me, nothing feels better than riding around with the top down (or windows), wind in hair, favorite jam of the season bumping extra hard with the bass kicking. You do that for me, Summer. No one else.

From the best day parties, to BBQ functions with the friends and fam, the memorable moments did not stop. We all happily tossed aside our hard work in the gym for the lustful need of any roasted form of swine or bovine accompanied by whatever cold brew was around. Because it was like, fuck it, we already in this together anyways – no need to impress anyone else this deep in our relationship.


I’m just growing tired of you. Your weather – in all it’s clingy and uncomfortable glory – is ten much and can seriously use a bit of toning down a notch or five. I keep telling myself to just grin and bear it, that it just comes with the territory, but all the while my thoughts are on how great it would be to step out with a season that’s much colder, where we can throw on all the flyest layers of jawns and make a night of it. I’m out here dying to already stunt in a fishtail parka and some Red Wings, yet you won’t let me. This thing we have, it’s really starting to suffocate me.

Also, it isn’t fun when every day AND night is hotter than Dylan’s mixtape bumpin’ across the Serengeti. Oh, and I swear, if I see one more white chick in an Indian headdress and high waisted shorts that reveal a dream catcher tattoo on their thigh, lives will be taken.

It’s September and I’m over here counting down the days until you’re over, Summer. That sucks, I know, but I’m just being honest.

So before I go and turn this emotional infidelity into something that’s physical (cuffing season is around the corner fyi), it’s best that we just leave things as is – where our best moments together are just a highlighted anticipation of how much better it’ll be the next time you come around.

Richard "Reach" Guinto

Reach loves the Lakers, breakfast, the sound of a Fender Rhodes, and rapping along word for word to Wu Tang's "Triumph." If you're looking for him, he's probably out getting chicken.

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