Two weeks, and then what?

How do you properly say goodbye to an entire city?
If you know the answer to that, give me a heads up, because I am curious. I have exactly two weeks to say goodbye to Boston. Although I knew for months that moving back to New York this May would probably be indefinite, this week I got my acceptance to Hunter, and my dad lost his job. So it’s official; sorry Boston, despite your lovely brownstones and excellent restaurants, I can’t stay any longer.
Saying goodbye to individuals will be its own challenge. I assume it will be something like graduating high school, except I will be the only one scared and anxious about what the next few months hold for me, while everyone else will still be settled here. I think I wrote an article about saying goodbye to friends in my high school newspaper, but I honestly don’t really remember anymore. I’ll leave this topic alone now.
Back to saying goodbye to a physical place, though. At this point, I think saying goodbye to Boston will be harder than saying goodbye to individuals. The friends who I want to stay in contact with will be just a phone call away; the lifestyle I had here, on the other hand, will be a thing of the past.
Part of me wants to try and cram in whatever I missed in the last two years (albeit, it’s not much.) In two years I feel as though I’ve seen all that Boston has to offer. I could make a trip over to the aquarium, but I suppose that defeats the purpose of saying goodbye; I don’t have a sentimental attachment to places I have never seen before.
Earlier this evening, I sat alone on the top of the grassy divide between Storrow Drive and the BU beach. I faced the river during sunset and worked on a paper. I watched the runners along the Charles, and I realized that this was what goodbyes were about.