When it comes to friends, I desire those who will share my happiness, who has wings of their own and who will fly with me. When I was in the eighth grade, I had a friend. We were shy and "too serious" about our studies when it was becoming fashionable with our classmates to learn acceptable social behaviors. We said little at school, but she would come to my house and we would sit down with pencils and paper, and one of us would say, "Let's start with a train whistle today." We would sit quietly together and write separate poems or stories that grew out of a train whistle. Then we would read them aloud. At the end of that school year, we, too, were changing into social persons and the stories and poems stopped. When I lived for a time in London, I had a friend. He was in despair and I was in despair, too. But our friendship was based on the idea in each of us that we would be sorry later if we did not travel over this great city because we had felt bad at the time. We met every Sunday for five weeks and found many excellent things. We walked until our despairs disappeared and then we parted. _ . For almost four years I have had a great friend whose imagination brightens mine. We write long letters in which we often discover our strangest selves. Each of us appears, sometimes in a funny way, in the other's dreams. She and I agree that, at certain times, we seem to be parts of the same mind. It is such comforting companions I wish to keep. One bright hour with their kind is worth more to me than the lifetime services of a psychologist, who will only fill up the healing silence necessary to those darkest moments in which I would rather be with my own best friend. What is the best title for the passage?
Unforgettable Experiences. Unbelievable Imagination. Touching Companions. Lifelong Friendship.