The bus ride to Boston, once seeming days long, feels short this time. The last time I was in Boston was three months ago - waiting out the tail-end of a doomed relationship, wondering if I had wasted the past year of my life on a boy who never loved me back.

This time, I was with a man who has an uncanny ability to make my heart melt and make me cry of happiness.

Boston was once home. I felt like an imposter, every time I went back after I graduated, clinging onto a city that was not mine. This time, Boston wasn't home - just an old friend, with memories of joy and laughter and pain and sorrow.

This time, New York was home. Boston was just memories passed.