Everyone But Me Wrote This

I nearly decided to begin writing this piece with a list of circumstances: those which led my writing of this piece, those which led to publishing it, and those which led to reading your book in the first place. I quickly realized it would become a list of anyone who made me a writer; anyone who taught me writing, who taught me to read; anyone who allowed me to be bookish, to enjoy school; anyone who endeavored to listen to the early rumblings of my essays. So, I canned the idea.

Instead, I write a sort-of letter to you now. Not unfitting: your book is, practically, a collection of letters, directed at, dedicated to, and acknowledging of the people who made your life a life. The people are split into three categories: Mothers, Lovers, and Others.

It feels fitting that