Dear Beloved Reader,
Isn’t it funny how, even within our closest relationships, we all started out as strangers?
In the opening line of Plato’s Phaedrus, Socrates asks Phaedrus, as they stroll along the banks of the Ilisos River, “Where are you coming from, and where are you going?” As a philosophy major, I’ve had to engage with this dialogue more times than I can count, and yet, it is still this opening line that stays with me even after reading.
Socrates is not just curious about Phaedrus’s whereabouts, as I assumed upon my first, surface-level read. What he is actually asking, and what becomes an underlying thread running throughout the dialogue, is whether Phaedrus knows himself: who he has been and who he is becoming. It is knowing oneself, as Plato conveys through Socrates, that is first and foremost in guiding an individual towards truly doing good—and one of the best ways of knowing oneself, according to Plato, is to view yourself through the eyes of those that you love and those that love you.
The road from strangers to friends or from strangers to lovers is not always a smooth one, as we so often attempt to present ourselves in a certain way to make the other person want to be around us (and sometimes, this doesn’t work out). Yet, every time we endure the awkwardness of being strangers with respect to one another, we open ourselves up to the possibility of forming enduring, meaningful relationships that can bring us closer to understanding ourselves—where we are coming from and where we are going.
This week, we’ve asked our writers to grapple with what it means to be a stranger—how it feels to go from unfamiliar to familiar, or familiar to unfamiliar. Sydney McClellan opens our issue with her brilliant poem, “Sinews of Stars,” utilizing cosmic imagery to convey how small everything else seems when fate brings two hearts together in just the right way. Next, Maxine Prudhomme’s timeless and uncanny short story, “Blue,” investigates the chaotic unraveling of a town after the arrival of a mysterious flower peddler.
CJ Ackerman-Garvin provides us a window into their childhood in their narrative essay, “A Pending Persona,” reflecting on their journey of growing into their most authentic self—and how sometimes, that identity seemed so far out of reach, it felt like an alias. Emily Frost also ponders how we change as we grow up in her piece, “You Can’t Read the Same Book Twice,” illustrating how there is much to be learned from rereading one’s favorite books over the years.
Faith Leslie and Grace Traxler explore the potential for reconnection that occurs when individuals transition from strangers to lovers and then back to strangers again. Faith Leslie demonstrates how one unsuspecting moment can potentially alter the course of our lives in her short story, “Light Years,” where a reluctant and lonely night out ends with the reignition of an old flame. Similarly, Grace Traxler, in her piece, “Strangers,” brings us along for the ride as two souls unexpectedly reconnect on the New York City subway—slowly at first, then all at once.
To close this issue, Geovanna Murphy makes a case study out of her and her friends’ early text exchanges in her piece, ““_____” Liked Your Message,” demonstrating how a seemingly impersonal form of communication can actually tell a clear story of how strangers became friends.
Iris writers, thank you for being your incredible selves! Your hard work never goes unnoticed. I am so proud of you all!
Thank you to the Social Media and Communications team for everything you do to give our writers the recognition they deserve. We appreciate you so much!
Mary and Simone, thank you all for being the best editorial team a girl could ask for. You guys rock.
And to you, the reader, thank you for your continued support. Happy reading!
Lindsey Smith
Editor, Iris Magazine 2025-2026
