In bed. On your back. There's a playlist of calm sounds playing from your phone, it helps you sleep faster. You look at the ceiling. The lights of the city piercing from your window are enough to imagine various shapes on it.
You feel alone.
You always do around that time after all.

Reading old discussion of friends you grew distant over time helps this mood.
It's a friend you where very friendly with, you still talk. It's not the same. There was affection now there's regrets on your part.

What have you done ? Probably the usual, just being weird and flirty and inappropriate.
And now they just say it under their breath, asking you why you're weird. You stop and laugh, it probably was nothing.

You come, nobody's talking much. You start something for a friend, trying to act, read and talk. The silence from before get added voices that drown yours without second thoughts.
It's rare when you stop talking. You can't utter another sound for two hours after that. It's probably nothing.

You ruminate on who you are. What you do, what you've done.
Nothing. You're probably nothing.
You think you have friends, but do they see you as one ?
You're the worst kind of alone, surrounded but questioning every interaction. Do your friends really love and value you ?
Probably not. You're nothing after all. Your voice get drowned in the static of your mic, in the static of your thoughts.
You're not sure if the tears at the corner of your eyes are from sleep or loneliness. It's not really important after all.

You'll hide like always, your wish to vanish will vanish in turn soon enough. Hopefully.
It's nothing.

Vast expense of night, floatiness, the sound of sleep. There's never truly "Nothing" in life.
But you find it now.
In bed. On its back. There's a playlist of calm sounds playing from its phone, it helps it sleep faster. It look at the ceiling. The lights of the city piercing from its window are enough to imagine various shapes.
But not its own as it's nothing, really. Probably nothing to worry or care about.