In the stillness of 3:30 AM, I stand triumphant after a grueling bout of Dota. Yet, the sweet taste of victory eludes me. My room, bathed in the erratic glow of screen lights, seems almost otherworldly. The sting in my tired eyes, the tremble of my weary hands, the rhythm of my heavy breathing - all feel too real. There's a haunting emptiness that echoes, a void we've all perhaps recognized when staring at a victory screen after a seemingly endless game. This moment is not new to me.

It has replayed itself over and over: during a lonely New Year's Eve when the only company was my screen, and in the raw aftermath of heartbreak, where tears hadn’t yet dried, but I hoped a game might mend the rift. A failed escape, just as the love I sought with them felt more like a burdensome task than genuine affection. Perhaps that's why it fell apart. This feeling, this moment of emptiness, is an old acquaintance now, greeting me more times than I'd like to admit.

It's lonely, but it's poetry. A romanticized agony, weirdly beautiful and tragic, that I can't find anywhere but here, in Dota 2.