Three months ago, I told myself I was done with these, that there wouldn’t be any reason to write another—because I was closing the books on a period of time in my life and looking ahead. I said, “You, Mr. You, you are the last one I will write about in real-time.” I take it back now. I’m not convinced there will ever come a time where I can completely let go of the notion of sitting at a coffee shop, looking around at all the students and professionals doing their work, having their conversations, on their first dates, and writing to the men who have traipsed into my life for whatever reason—and made an impact of sorts. The story is never finished—until it absolutely is finished.