The screen glows faintly, illuminating my dark room as I immerse myself in Astroneer for another endless session. There’s a single streak of light from the slightly ajar blinds, but I’ve forgotten what it feels like to watch the sun rise. The real world has faded into a sort of background, existing only in shadows and brief interruptions—snacks, bathroom breaks, the occasional reminder that I’m a person. But the universe of Astroneer is all-encompassing. Days blend into nights, nights blend into days, and somehow, I’m still here, lost among colorful, alien landscapes, plunging into unknown caves, exploring the mysterious depths of its worlds. The constant clicking of the controls feels as natural as breathing, the hum of the console a reassuring heartbeat that reminds me that, yes, Astroneer is here, and that’s all that matters.

Sometimes, I’ll look at the clock, eyes stinging from staring too long at the screen. Time stretches in ways I never thought possible. The hours, they morph and compress, slipping through my fingers like sand. Outside, I imagine seasons must be changing; I can barely remember the last time I felt the warmth of the sun or watched the leaves shift colors. But that world—outside—has become secondary, almost irrelevant. Who needs the sun when there’s a galaxy of planets waiting for me to sculpt, dig, and reshape at my fingertips? My sense of direction, of accomplishment, all lies within the game’s orbit. The knowledge of where to find resources, of how to build the next base, and how to automate the little tasks has embedded itself so deeply into my mind that it feels like second nature. Reality outside the game becomes hazy; I might forget to sleep, but within Astroneer, I find a rhythm, a comfort in the constancy of exploration, in the endless pursuit of the next discovery.

In the quiet hours of the night, when most people are tucked in bed, I’m up—my fingers tapping a steady rhythm against the controller. My body aches, but that feeling is fleeting compared to the satisfaction of uncovering something new in the game’s ever-expanding universe. I don’t know what day it is, and frankly, it doesn’t seem important. I know my base layout, I know where my next project will be, and I know that this world, digital as it is, has somehow become my own. Outside, I imagine people bustling about their daily routines, bathed in sunlight, living their lives. And yet, I remain here, hunched over, staring at the screen that has become my window into a world more fascinating than the one beyond my room. Time might be slipping by, the sun a distant memory, but I can’t imagine it any other way—because all that exists, all that matters, is this: my unending journey in Astroneer.