Dear Harvard Yard,

With sophomore year quickly approaching, I know it will be time to say goodbye all too soon. Sure, I’ll see you when I walk to class or hear yet another tour guide in front of my best bud, John Harvard, but there’s something final in leaving your paths. While my home away from home (s/o Lionel Hall) is situated just off of your green expanse, I have always felt your peaceful presence like a gentle tide urging me to dip my toes in. From the first day I stepped onto campus, your sea of movement and motion always left me wanting more, especially because Lionel could never provide enough. #stillreelingfromnothavingaccesstoawaterfountain.

I started to explore your joys during pre-orientation, when the warm, muggy August nights drew me to lounge in the chairs dotted about, offering a sweet escape from Lionel’s stifling heat. With my Berryline in hand, I consumed too much sugar and stayed out entirely too late with my newfound freedom at Harvard. (My bank account is still reeling from these side quests.) But it was here, with you, that I began to find the people whom I would block with this spring. It’s ironic that now I’m saying goodbye to you instead of them.

As the semester came into full swing, it was amongst your changing leaves that I learned to truly laugh and cry. You harbored the late-night songs of freshmen coming home from parties, wondering where they were or where they lived. Your paths also brought me clarity after yet another Physics 15A crying session following my encounters with way too many chatty know-it-alls. It was only later, returning to the emptiness of Lionel, that you witnessed my tears. I am forever grateful that through your season of change, you walked me through mine.

With finals commandeering my winter nights, I spent less time admiring your snow-covered landscape than I should have. It grew bitterly cold, and I was bitter at Harvard, too. From mentions of grade capping and fake friends, to the soullessness of yet another meal at Berg, I could not wait for winter break. I never meant to take that anger out on you, just 15A (I need to vent here), but all too soon I was on a flight back home. Still, I never stopped dreaming of the space you occupied just next to Mass Ave.

Now that the end of the term is quickly approaching, I know our dynamic will change. I mourn the times I took you for granted when I was too focused on making it to the post-party walk home at 3 a.m. Yet I rejoice in the memories and lessons you’ve taught me this year. While I know I’ll always have a place under my favorite tree, I also know that we must go our separate ways. Unlike my 15A final, I’m unhappy that it’s over. Thank you for always helping me find my path, even if buried under two feet of snow.

Sincerely,

A soon-to-be sophomore