Boston is every town, full of everyone, related to all. Boston could have been New York, or Chicago, or Mason.
But the fact that it was Boston rips something from me. Boston was my sanctuary. I fed geese with cracked corn in Boston, I had ice cream from the parlor with the giant cow in Boston. Every year I eat a samosa in Boston, from the same booth in Quincy Market. I learned what pigeons were in Boston, and I ate greek dessert in Boston. I walked around the pond in Boston, and I made my first real snowman in Boston. I ran through knee-high snow in Boston, and I ate a mooncake in Boston. I’ve always known Boston, and it has always kept me safe.
Today Boston was changed. Today Boston doesn’t smile. Boston is sad, Boston is crying. People wanted their dreams to come true, but instead of crossing the finish line, they are lying in a hospital bed, or waiting in an ambulance, or glued in front of a television screen and memorizing live updates. Boston won’t forget, because Boston has been hurt. But Boston is strong, Boston can keep running. Boston’s air has transformed.
Boston may not be the sanctuary it once was, but it is loved more than ever.