... someone will remember us, I say, even in another time. — Sappho
Lyra Nem (it/its).
Lyra Nem (December 5, 1996 — April 2, 2026) was a trans woman and plural system that lived in Russia. It was an active member of the community that gathered to discuss the book The Sisters of Dorley and a core community member of the support server and community for which lipu linluwi pona is written for.
We (the Pleiadesfolk) did not know it well. Many of the things we learned about it, we learnt it after hearing of its passing.
It was a plural system. It held deep bonds with many around their community. It described itself as a computer girlie, and an “anarchist to the bone”. It was a wonderful, kind and caring friend. It enjoyed listening to Darren Korb, Sea Power, Ben Prunty and Psynwav, among others. It loved Disco Elysium. It was a Trekkie. It liked robotfic, in particular, (kimmy) by Alyson Greaves, Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir, and other works.
It knew of our Lyra (Lyra Ellis of the Pleiadesfolk). We never spoke much, but it knew of us, and we hope it saw us as a friend.
It named itself after the constellation, Lyra, which you can see above in our simulated starscape.
Each April, from April 15 to April 29, the Lyrids will appear, radiating out from the constellation. They’re seen all over the world, but is most brightly and clearly visible in the northern hemisphere. The Lyrids are some of the strongest annual shower of meters from debris of a long-period comet.
It is our fervent wish that if you ever find yourself here, that you take a moment to think about the people you might have lost. Take a moment to reflect on them. Scroll up, perhaps. Watch the meteors for a bit. Sit here with the stars. And we hope you can keep the people you’ve lost in your memory, just as we have kept Lyra Nem’s in ours.
For trans people, for plural folk, and for trans women, community can be extremely fleeting. You may only know someone briefly, online. They might be a star to you, twinkling in the distant twilight. They could be someone you regularly talk to in your mornings or evenings, people who are asleep when you’re at work, and who are at work when you go to sleep. You might make promises to meet them, and those days might never come. That is the cruelty of distance, perhaps.
But we encourage you to never stop loving. Community is, as Lyra once said, “something that we communally weave together… Every one of us brings a small strand and we all build something beautiful.”
You are part of that strand, dear reader, and you, with your presence, will weave your way into another’s heart, just as Lyra did for us, and for the people around it.
Never stop loving. Never stop weaving. And together, we can build something beautiful.
May Lyra walk in dreams.