The architecture was what struck me the most: miles of Back Bay brownstones, Victorians lining the Emerald Necklace park system that sprawled along Commonwealth Avenue into the heart of the city. Boston changed forms with the seasons: glistening in the wintertime with continuous nor’easters, pink with flowering trees in the springtime, green and quiet in the summer when students had gone home, bustling and colorful in autumn when they returned in September.
I was one of them for a time. I had come to the city to embark upon an academic journey which was supposed to end in a Master’s degree. When I left the city two years following my arrival, I left without the academic degree for which I had come. But I did not leave Boston empty-handed. I left with newfound admiration for this historic city which had charmed me, tested me, and ultimately broken my heart. I left with images: veritable visual feasts emblazoned upon my brain to carry with me for the rest of my days. I left with aspirations. I left with the love of friends I had made during my time there. And I left with the knowledge that I would return someday. Someone had to Instagram this streetlamp, after all.