I have four-hundred games in my Steam library. 

At first glance, this might seem a gross miscalculation or perhaps insight into a vast network of friends and gifted gratitude, but no, sadly or not, these games are primarily my own doing. Over the near decade I've been a member of Valve's game client mutation, I've accumulated these games through individual purchases, bundles (some Humble), and have had a few gifted by both good friends and anonymous Redditors. I browse the list often in triumph and intimidation, a sublime monument of has-beens and will-dos. 

The largest conglomerate? Will-nots. 

I'll never play eighty-percent of those four-hundred games, and that's one-hundred percent okay with me. I like the comfort of a nice library. It might not be wood and stretch from floor to ceiling. It may not be littered with physical renditions of the games, slowly gathering dust, fingerprints, and forlorn dedications. It may not exist to those who I don't throw it at.

But this doesn't matter. It's a library, an archive for a medium I love. It's collected memories and untapped adventures. There are no book binds to run my fingers across or familiar smells that snap me back a decade or two, but games aren't bereft of synesthesia. A simple double-click leads to menu music that can turn a stomach upside itself with whatever emotion suits the spin.

I may have four-hundred games too many, but it also means I have four-hundred things to share.