
Every childhood has a secret kingdom. Mine was behind a library. When I was a kid, my friends and I would play cricket at the park. But not on the main ground. We had our own spot — at the far end, next to an old library that was always closed. Next to it? A rusted iron gate. And behind that gate? Our world. A perfect little square — walled on three sides. The library on one end, a massive brick wall on the other. Enough space for six boys to play cricket without adults shouting at us. We played there every day. Rain or shine. The brick wall was our enemy. Every time someone hit a six, the ball would fly over. Then came the adventure — climbing that wall. At the top, we'd see someone's house roof. We'd pretend we were explorers, wave at imaginary people, and jump down like heroes. That park was alive. Old people did yoga. Families had picnics. Prayer sessions happened. The grass was always cut short. Then I grew up. Moved away. Life happened. Years later, I went back My heart sank. Silence Wild grass everywhere — chest-high, untamed. No paths. No people. No laughter. No yoga. Nothing. The library was still there. Still closed. The gate? Still rusted. Still there. I pushed it open. Walked behind the library. Just grass. Overgrown. Wild. Like nature had swallowed our secret kingdom whole. No cricket pitch. No climbing wall. No heroes. If you visited today, you'd never know it was once full of life. You'd think it was always abandoned. But I know the truth. I remember the sound of leather on wood. The shouts of "catch it!" The victory dances. The scraped knees. The friendships that felt forever. The park is dead. The place is gone. But the memories? They're still alive. Still playing cricket behind that library. And they always will be. submitted by /u/Disastrous-Layer-202 [link] [comments]
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