Letter from the editor (and writer and reader and friend)

Dear reader,

I long to believe you are listening. That to read is to listen, and to listen is to love after all.

I haven’t written in ages and I hope I am forgiven for it. I was holding the pen too tight, pressing too hard. Leaving dents, inky bullet holes, in my attempts to make a mark. I just keep making lists, like they’re going to save me. Get me back on some track I was never on in the first place. Never finishing my sentences in the name of poetic license.

But that’s enough about writing. All I do is write about how much I don’t and I am so tired of it, aren’t you? So many wonderful and strange and awful things keep happening and you spend all your time wondering how to describe them perfectly?

Maybe this year I’ll actually tell you things. I’ll write about the trips I’ve been on and the cities that held me. I can’t stop thinking about them—the roads and skies and metro rides. I can’t stop thinking about grief. And the movies. And all those old rockstars and some of the new ones. Their music. The soft. The heavy. One of the teeth in my mouth is not mine, it was crafted for me.

But that’s enough about me. I hope you’re well. I do, really. Thank you for listening.

Yours,

Gautami