nightingale...

And it sings ever so sweetly to someone who knows that the world out there doesn't really care if you're alone.

You wonder sometimes if they're really friends, or if they're only there for the things you do. There's no need to go into details, you know their eyes light up when you mention certain things will be going on, they immediately agree, even to go out of their way, just to see you. Or rather, see you do that thing you do. That thing you do well enough that they find it worthwhile to 'befriend' you over.

You should be glad this isn't a public shower. Your constant bending over to pick up someone else's soap will result in a surefire sore bottom. But admit it, you love it. You love the attention all of this brings you. You love the compliments showered upon that otherwise insignificant skill, that otherwise negligible blip on their radar.

You see their gleeful smiles. And inwardly, you smile too, because you know in the very least, you caused it. They wave goodbye as they leave, you standing behind, waving back, like the ignorant idiot you are. Then it hits you. You're alone again. Naturally.

Except, maybe the nightingale. That sweet song reminding you that nobody loves anybody for themselves alone. Just like you would find the little black bird a toxic dung dropper, but for the song. And sometimes, it helps to know that no matter how fucked up you realise you are, there's always an animal even more raped than you.