I remember the world my best friend and I created as children. We grew up in a small town in the southwest Arizona desert, and the desert that surrounded us was our playground. With a clear sky and wide open space, our imaginations had no limits. We fought battles with rocks and sticks, against enemies larger than life, and we would always win. The desert hills became mountains with dangerous cliffs and grand summits to conquer. Our adventures were epic. We saved the world every day. We were each other’s heroes back then, and we believed in each other’s dreams. But one day, I’m not sure when, those childhood dreams were replaced by grownup “reality” and imagination seemed to die. I use the word seemed because when my childhood friend and I get together, once a year or less, I can’t help feeling like we never left that world we created in that Arizona desert. Somehow, we still look at each other’s life as a continuation of that adventure that started so many years ago, and we still believe in each other’s dreams. My friend is still my hero.
we were heroes then
and we saved the world each day
defending our dreams
but imagination died
how did our friendship survive