He still has the controller. The screen went dark years ago.
The room hasn't changed. He has.

Every night the same memories float up.
Doge at three cents. Pepe before everyone ruined him.
The hat she made him. The pump he sold too early.
The one he held until there was nothing left.

He doesn't cry. He just sits there and remembers.
That's what nostalgia is. Grief with a softer name.