I’ve watched lots of goodbyes to The Batt. 

Some were lighthearted, like former sports editor Luke White’s as he kneeled at our then-editor-in-chief’s feet to be knighted after our last print; others, less so, like former opinion columnist Maddie McMurrough’s as we shared stories and cried into our fries at the Dixie Chicken. 

But honestly, they were never truly goodbyes.

Because you don’t just let go once, that’s the first mistake. It could be five years from now, but then I’ll see a double space after a period or notice the straight apostrophes while reading some novel, and suddenly I’m right back in the newsroom, rubbing my eyes with ink-stained hands at midnight, and it’ll be goodbye all over again. 

It’s these goodbyes no one ever warns you about; the quiet, unremarkable ones said over a lifetime.

So, this may be my Swan Song, but this isn’t really goodbye. 

Ryan, thank you for putting up with my multiple rage-quits and bad writing, but especially for encouraging me to be an editor — I never forgot to fill out my photo requests. I know all good things must come to an end, but I hope one day I’ll get to say сколько лет, сколько зим. 

Charis, you guided me through everything even though you were just as lost. Your smile made me forget how exhausted I was every print, and you made me look forward to walking into a room full of people I didn’t know because I knew you’d be there for me. Some nights, I swear I can still hear echoes of your laugh. 

Sidney, Wyatt, Kaleb, Maeva, Maddie — no offense to the other desks, but editing your pieces after whatever catastrophe was in slot that day was the best part of my job. Thank you for always being critical and unserious as needed, and especially for being so understanding as I spiraled during application season. I couldn’t have asked for better writers to call my own. 

Josh, I can’t express how proud I am of how far you’ve come, both in and out of the newsroom. Being your editor while you won those awards doesn’t compare to having been able to see you pursue your dreams, navigate difficult relationships and help others — namely, myself — experience life outside the confines of work and studies. You’ve gone from a columnist to an editor; from my writer to one of my closest friends. 

Kynlee, you’re the strongest person I know, but never forget that sometimes the strongest thing you can do is know when not to be. Thank you for all the beautiful flowers; as they’ve wilted and creased throughout the months, you’ve never ceased to remind me that wisdom doesn’t always have to come with age.

Mathias, you’re somehow the most thoughtful person I’ve ever met. You can play yourself off as art deco all you want, but your empathy will always give you away. Unlike what I can say of myself, I hope you never change — thanks for letting me get to know you, if only a little bit, for a little while. 

Theresa, you are red roses and warmth. Thank you for the sweetest compliments I’ve ever gotten and for watching movies with me, indulging me in my utterly incoherent thoughts on them for hours on end. 

Julia, thank you for letting me see all the different, wonderful sides of you; whether you’re inside that bell jar or not, nothing can confine the bounds of your loving soul.

And thank you, Ian, for finding a way to include me and anyone else around you, regardless of time, topic or place. You have been unanimously elected to share our lore with the next set of editors and, naturally, to help them create their own.

I love you all dearly. I will have to let go and let go and let go a thousand times, but you guys have made it worth it. Someone once told me that we’re a mosaic of everyone we’ve ever met, and if that’s true, all of you are the best parts of me. I couldn’t possibly begin to distill the gratitude I feel into words, and any attempt at doing so would merely be a poor translation of the heart. 

When I think of our newsroom, I think of the people in it, who came together over the semesters to create harmony: It lasted the length of a breath, beautiful despite — or because of — its transience.

In the same way, the memories I made here, along with those of everyone who came before me, and of those who will come after, must evanesce to make way for new beginnings and ineluctable goodbyes. So, I resign myself to and am grateful for this bittersweet ending; our moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain.