A Love Letter to Boston

I started writing this letter in March, the week after I was abruptly kicked out of my apartment in my last semester of college at Northeastern.

The Boston skyline from the view of a commuter on the red line heading to Alewife during rush hour.

Dear Boston,

The city I was born. The city where I feel like I became a real person with opinions, ideas and goals. The city where I learned about the importance of family. The city where I made friends that turned into family. The city where I learned that I could love with all of my heart. The city where I learned how to learn. The city that gave me my voice.

Thank you.

I’ll miss the mind numbing screeching sounds of the orange line as it approaches Downtown Crossing, the view of the sailboats on the Charles from the pier on the esplanade after sunset, the sound of the Charlie card machine “failing to complete this transaction”, the taste of JP licks brownie brownie batter with hot fudge after a sad day, the smell of freshly made hash browns inside of any Dunkin, the glow of the reflecting pool at the Christian Science center at night, and the energy you feel when you march down to the commons with your friends after the Patriots win a superbowl.

I left you on a bittersweet note, but I seem to keep coming back. After many years of exploring, learning and observing, I feel like I finally know you. I know which lane to drive in if I want to take the exit to Logan airport, I know when to cross the street even if the walking sign isn’t on, and I know which side of the platform to stand on at Park Street to get on the E line to Heath Street.

I don’t know a lot about the world, but I do know that I love this city. No matter where I go, Boston, you will always be home.

Love,
Rucha

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boop a snoot today

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Rucha

Rucha

boop a snoot today

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