spiritoflax19
Controller, gripping it for hours on end, sweating from the palms, clammy hands clasping it firmly, as the controller and I pass the hours and the days together. Indeed, months can fly by in the blink of an eye when I have my trusty controller in my hands, forgetting about everything else. Nothing matters, I have my controller. My controller is my friend. Sitting on the couch, there’s a dent forming where I’m sitting and I’m worried that I’ll break the buttons if I keep playing this much. I wouldn’t want to hurt my controller. No, certainly not. The controller is my drug, my anti-drug, my damnation, my salvation. Alpha and Omega. Years pass and I don’t even notice. The Earth spins, countries rise and fall, life continues on, people are born, people die, but I have my controller so I don’t have to worry about any of that. Gotta get home, bullshit your work, so you can return to your dear controller. Your controller is beckoning you. I don’t have to move, or think, because my controller does it all for me. I love my controller.
Macbook Pros, iPhones, iPads, lacrosse sticks and heads and pads, A game console that'll be touched once. Wealth? More like waste.
All my hatred and resentment towards you, my friend, which had seemed so easy to contain a few weeks ago, is now bubbling over, and I fear for the day when it can be withheld no longer.