Today I graduate.

Home is a funny concept. From a literal standpoint, my home is Lexington, Massachusetts. The house of my parents, of creaky staircases, of bland beige wallpaper.

But over these past four years, the town I grew up in has become a stranger. Visiting home became a chore that I refused to do, and instead stayed with the attractive mistress of three-day weekends at UMass.

My new home is much more extravagant. I have found solace at UMass, the seemingly permanent residence. What a tease these past four years have been, tricking me into believing I could stay here forever. It’s hard, I feel like after UMass I won’t have a home. Yes, I’m going back to Lexington, but my heart isn’t there anymore.

What a cliché it is to reminisce about orientation weekend, remembering the tour guides saying that you would be friends with the people you meet your freshman year for the next four years. Rolling my eyes I thought I had already heard it all. Yeah yeah, I would definitely be friends with the people I meet freshman year. Okay.

Then Van Meter spiraled me into a world I never knew existed. Rolling my eyes again, but this time as a Senior, I hate to admit that those tour guides were right. The late night escapades running from room to room introducing yourself to some of the most interesting people. The comforting sight of every door open on your floor. The paint wars. The freshman boat we were all almost sinking in together, somehow keeping one another afloat. And now my apartment mates are all from the same floor I lived on just a wee three years ago. Well, those tour guides showed me.

They say college is the best four years of your life. And yes, I do agree these were some of the best years of my life, but I refuse to let it end here.

A friend told me last night, “It’s time. We’re not 18 year olds anymore, we’re 22.” But what is that supposed to mean? I don’t want it to “be time.”

But, inevitably, it is. It’s time for us to end these chapters filled with overeating at the dining halls, laying in the grass without a care in the world, and learning our drinking limits. An end to the wind tunnels of the library, navigating through the continuous construction, and keeping our Ucard numbers memorized (Which I actually don’t think I’ll ever forget) The subplots of those who broke our hearts, the cliffhangers of those who haven’t broken them yet, and the foreshadowing of those who never will. But I am still adamantly writing the twists and turns of my friends, hoping to never have to pick up my pen from the pages.

My friends. My beautiful, lovely, unique friends. There is so much I wish I could say, so much I wish I could put more eloquently into words. The only thing I can think of right now, is thank you.

Thank you for seeing me at my weirdest and for wanting to be weird with me too. Thank you for seeing me at my worst and still accepting me for my flaws. Thank you for helping me be my best. You all inspire me to be a better person, a strong person, and a loving person.

If there is one thing I am 100% sure about, it’s love. I am in love with all of you. And how do I know it’s love, you may ask?

Love is helping me during a panic attack during my first night in Van Meter, overwhelmed that I was in way over my head.

Love is dancing with me on a basketball court outside, 7 shots somehow squeezed into a Mellow Yellow.

Love is cheering me on during sketchy basement open mic nights.

Love is new songs inspired by you.

Love is Mango Rubinoff.

Love is Franklin.

Love is walking up the hill every single day and still getting the freshman 15.

Love is hugs.

Love is accepting my crudeness.

Love is missing me when I went abroad.

Love is wishing I could have taken you all with me.

Love is the first weekend back from summer.

Love is lying in the middle of the road with a road soda raised to the stars.

Love is Meadow Street.

Love is fake birthdays, and three renditions of “Happy Birthday” in a row.

Love is Ace Compliments.

Love is pulling your friends onto overcrowded buses as if your life depended on it, refusing to let them walk home alone.

Love is South Prospect Street.

Love is walking into a room full of your friends and feeling warmth instantly.

Love is punched holes in the bathroom walls.

Love is Puffton.

Love is old friends.

Love is screaming Bohemian Rhapsody in the middle of the street.

Love is Townhouses.

Love is 7 month old pumpkins.

Love is Route 9 Diner at 3am.

Love is new friends.

Love is bringing two groups of people together.

Love is Summer Street.

Love is meeting people in class and successfully becoming actual friends.

Love is dancing in the basement for hours, losing complete feeling in your feet, but still continuing to dance.

Love is Come On Eileen.

Love is very clean.

Love is being an only child growing up, but finding your older brothers in the boys who look out for you and younger sisters in the girls who you would protect no matter what.

Love is all of you.

Coming to UMass was the last thing I wanted to do. But thank every single god there is that I did.

Now is the most important time for us to be together. Graduation is the swear that’s been even too crude for me to say. It’s true, this atmosphere and experience will never happen to us again. Some of us are going to California, some are staying in Massachusetts, and some are going to Texas or Minnesota, but none of us will all live together in this strange place called Amherst. It has been a one of a kind hug that I wish I didn’t have to pull away from.

Meeting all of you has been the perfect hug. The hug that goes on for longer than 30 seconds and still isn’t awkward. It’s all of you who made this the best four years, and it’s all of you who will continue to make future years as incredible. We may not be taking 10 shots before going to Monkey Bar or doing kegstands in basements, but I assure you we will find other shenanigans to get into, more memories I can’t wait to laugh about.

So be proud, my class of 2014, my friends, we did it.

And I can’t wait for what else is in store, and for more hugs.