Side, writers search for their final words. They find the art that guides them through a parting, or keeps them from leaving.

The shelves of my childhood closet are practically collapsing under the weight of numerous dusty boxes. As a child I kept every letter, ticket and scrap imaginable. I couldn’t even part with the ...

The Metropolitan is taking the place of my favorite restaurant, totally destroying any community to be found. There is already ample housing no one can afford (a simple Google search of “Ann Arbor ...

When I was 15 years old, I wrote a letter to my college-aged self. Six years later, a little too late, this is my response.

Imagine you refresh your home page on literally any social media app. Immediately you’re bombarded by another influx of hundreds of videos telling you how to live. How to dress. How to do your makeup.

I am all the art I have ever consumed, and I have never said goodbye to any of it. How do you say goodbye to something that’s changed you?

The library has always been a constant for me. It is my happy place, somewhere I will never be able to fully say goodbye to.

Last summer, I sat on a Delta Air Lines plane for eight hours, listened to “Take Me Home, Country Roads” and said goodbye to a newfound home. After trading rural Ohio for the University of Michigan, I ...

A reflection on fleeting college moments, the art of goodbye, and why some memories can’t be preserved — only carried.

Like other forms of comfort, music can serve as a reliable emotional anchor, counteracting the instability often associated with grief.

While watching my sister go through tuberculosis, I did everything I could to hold onto part of our normal, pre-TB lives.

The Pixies’ “Where Is My Mind?” ushers and signals ending in David Fincher’s “Fight Club.” How is this accomplished?