It’s always going to be weird to me that this is the game that acted as the lynchpin for so many experiences in my life, both essential and easily avoidable. For all intents, its fine, right? It’s Kirby, still coming into his own, but identifiable as the super tuff pink puff that everyone with an ounce of good taste adores. Discussing the actual advancements of any Kirby game is a fool’s errand for all but the most studious of scholars in Dream Land, a topic already worn weary by a thousand writers before me. Plain and simple, this game matters less in the physical reality of what it is and isn’t, and more by where it resides, as this near-constant companion through my memories.

Dream Land 2 settled as permanent iconography, fragmented moments sculpted in grey-matter marble, pristinely preserved and gravely decayed. It was a series of monochromatic rainbows illuminating otherwise melancholic recollections, an eternal love that, even in its greyscale trappings, glowed in vibrant light. It was the life-or-death duel against the celestial duo, Mr. Shine and Mr. Bright, outside of a Wal-Mart in South Colorado, the endless attempts to dethrone the Dede-despot after school… It was lackadaisical searches for Rainbow Drops, late into the night, while talking to loved ones. I don’t want to pretend it’s more than it is, a story of a rose-tinted little guy and his Adorable Animal Friends™ (and Gooey), but perhaps it’s that same simplicity that ensures a presence in my mind.