It’s not you, it’s us—the ones that are leaving, the ones with no more pages to fill. To be honest, when you cut that comma, it felt like the last straw. We are moving on, but this sure won’t be easy—we will be scanning the masthead online, hoping that you haven’t found someone better, but also knowing that you deserve the best.
It’s unfair, we know, you’ll see reminders of our time together throughout PVD— our visit to the sex dungeon, that time we bowled our first strike, even our Sunday morning walks along Keene Street. We’ve been holding you back, and we know you’ll find other people to write about DARE, gentrification, or the perils of big data.
We think you deserve to know: we just couldn’t take not being read anymore, and we cheated with The Journal. It was just one page, we swear.
Over the past four years, we’ve simply grown so far apart that long distance could never work—not even Slack could keep our connection alive, and we knew you always liked Will more than us anyway. I hope we can still be friends, maybe we could freelance something?