It seemed only seconds ago that you were one, with barely a last hit and no chance to win.
And then you were three, still quite the child, and thinking that you were free.
Three became six, so brash and confident, with your new shiny ultimate.
Six led to ten, and you'd overextend, until I came to save you.
Finally you were fifteen, full grown and strong, not needing me to tell you right from wrong.
It seemed only seconds between one and eighteen, but now you couldn't fall, hardly needing me at all.

A poem for supports

*sniff* poor supports- our babies grow up so fast

I found that touching.

not bad

*tears*

*applause*

That would've been a lot better if I were a good support player.. But I'm a horrible support.. I'm the beefy AD person not needing the support as much as the carry.

aw, the story of all my support games

*sniff.
So true... so true...

Awww... except...

Why do most of the people I support don't become strong... T_T There's always better talent out there at mid or top...

*sniff*

that was great, well done.