Dear Boston:

Have you ever loved a place? I know that sounds kind of crazy, right? To use the L word, or to affiliate an emotion like “love” with a physical object that isn’t a human being or a family pet.

But whether it’s a city itself, or a certain stretch of mountains in Vermont that you stand in freezing temperatures to say your vows in front of, some coordinates on a map can just get us. Sometimes, we might feel like a place understands us more than another person could.

It can be a view out over a beautiful lake that you like to sit by in your swing and the sunset calms any nerves you bring to it. It can be the beach you drove to as a teenager to look out over an ocean that is so much bigger than your own problems, that it puts them all into perspective for you. It might be a flourishing park in the thickest of East Boston cement that overlooks a harbor and a city skyline with your family’s roots at your back, that from a young age you told yourself, “I’m going to propose to a special girl here someday.”

Places might not only come with a sense of admiration, but they can give us a sense of home and belonging, a humbling or a grounding we anxiously need, or they might even stir up an inspiration to thrive that’s been laying dormant deep down in us. Landmarks can trigger some of the most major feels if you stop and let them.

So when I woke up to the email notification that The Isolation Journals had sent me a daily writing prompt to “Write a love letter to a place", still half-asleep I immediately wandered to those mountains and beaches and all of the places I’ve ran to before for comfort. I couldn’t really land on just one that would mean the most- Beverly Harbor, Piers Park, the Vermont towns of Stowe and Chittenden, or Goose Rocks Beach. Each of these own quite significant real estate in my heart. But there was one place, one city, that was hot on my mind because I’ve found myself missing it the most lately- Boston. A city that has seen so many of my ups and downs. Most importantly, this is a place that for the last five years, has probably played more of a part in my mundane, day-to-day’s than my own husband has.

Here is my love letter to a place.

Dear Boston:

I love your cobblestone.
I love the bronze plaques that boast “1770” on the sides of your buildings.
I love that your roads curve and bend sometimes a little too tight.
I love that the saltwater pitter patters right up against the cement of your sidewalks.
I love Columbus Park and the walk through the trellis’ looking up at a beaming clock tower.
I love your old banks.
I love your freedom, and following its trail.
I love the smell of pizza and a brick oven.
I love to feast and swirl my cabernet at the same time.

I love your bridges and I love looking up at your lights.
I love loudly shouting with thousands of other mad strangers
all for the love of your Celtics and Bruins.
I wish I saw the old Garden, and the raised subway tracks.
But I do love your greenway.
I love your merry-go-round and the beer gardens in the middle of four, five,
even six lanes of traffic.
I never even notice the bustle around me.
I love your tall buildings.
I love your coffee shops and hidden breakfast spots.
I’ve even accepted your commercial salad joints and Starbucks, too.
But only because of convenience.
I will never, ever, get enough of your old pubs,
rich with knotted wood and warm lights.
I love your character.
You have such charm.
I love your dirty water.
And sometimes even your dirty floors. Whether they’re beer soaked and sticky
at Clarkes, or just the rain carried in on the shoe bottoms of commuters through
the prettiest of marble lobbies on State Street.

I love your shops and I admire your boutiques.
I love your lack of commercialism.
I love your authenticity and I so greatly value your history.
I love your banners and the championships.
I love your boats and enjoy your piers.
I love your views.
I love that your airport is far enough to watch planes take off and land,
from my desk.
It’s hard to keep my eyes on traffic because I’m too busy watching for uneven
pavement beneath me, but I love that it’s there.
I love your stairs and I love your hills.
I love your brick and the accents of iron.
I love your old glass.
I love your growth, and even your construction.
It illustrates your ambition.
I love your beauty, both old and new.
I love your excitement.
I love your generosity, your selflessness, and your care.
I love your pride.

I love your parks and I love your benches,
that’s where I lunch and meet with friends.
I love your trees, still striving among the skyscrapers.
I love your squares.
I love your public library and your wealth of knowledge.
I love your hustle.
I love your patriotism.
I appreciate your work ethic.
I love your theatres.
I love the opportunities you give to any and everyone.
I love your support and encouragement to chase even the wildest of dreams.
I love your diversity and acceptance.
I love your rooftops.
I love your food.
I love your alleyways.
I love your gardens.
I love your lanterns.
I love getting absolutely lost in you.
I love that when I’m away, I miss you.
I love that I can’t wait to see you again.