I keep talking about control

In the corner of an arcade heavily sits a contraption impaled with a screen too big to focus on. Children readily align themselves on the plastic seat in front, grabbing the wheel in their sticky jam hands and lunging their bodies forward, watching the miniature car spin down hot tar. I miss the feeling of walking slowly. I miss the potential of change within a box. That makes no sense. Why would I want that? No matter how many dewy red grapes are carefully stacked one after the other on either side of the scale, one will always be too much and one will always be too little. It wasn't even a feeling of contentment, but it was there and I feel naive and juvenile for only just now figuring out what it's really like. When will impermanence no longer be a factor and when will attachment no longer be terrifying? I feel like a whiny thirteen year old. This isn't even worth all of the consideration.