I find myself lacking eloquent words to express my sadness at the passing of Leslie Feinberg. My copy of Stone Butch Blues, its tattered edges and worn pages. The laminate seems to be trying to separate itself from the paper cover after years traveling in my bookbag and being thumbed through. This is one of my most valuable possessions. Not because of where it came from, but because it marks the first point at which I recall being shaken awake by the power of literature and the human experience. This is what an eternal freedom fighter looked like. One quote comes to mind often: "I reserve my right to be complex." Yes, we all certainly do. I feel that I cannot be thankful enough for your sacrifice, activism, and support. Rest well, dear revolutionary.