Ingrates

Strolling along beside you unnoticed, they linger, molded to you. They're there when you're there but you rarely notice them - oh sure, sometimes you pay attention, but not to give them any real substance. They're a part of you and of me and yet - yet they fade away so easily and bend and slide and roll and twist and never really have life of their own. They just stick to us, follow us, do just what we do, observe and learn from us. And what do we do in return? We turn out the lights?