Notes
On my last run in Boston...
It was a Monday. I began my last long run through Boston at 7:30 on clear, summer evening. I took the run slow and easy, making sure to soak up the sights, smells and sounds that pushed against me from all sides. I stopped for a while along the Cambridge side of the Mass Ave Bridge and leaned against the rusty fence. My eyes blurred into the distance as I reflected on my eight years in Boston. I gazed over the calm, dark water at the sparkling city skyline. It had given me my world and I was leaving it. I didn't know exactly why, but I knew I couldn't stay, either. I recalled so many of my runs along the trampled, dusty river ground and the blanket of warm, happy sunshine that had ridden on my back for so many miles. My eyes swelled with tears and the string of christmas lights created by blinking buildings across the river became an iridescent puddle of oil. The colors all mixing together and swirling around and going in and out of focus. Much like my memories of the city I was about to abandon.