It is understandable. Don’t think too many people would like to be in someone’s ear all the time. Just all the time. Staring into the (hairy?) darkness. Sure, it could be exciting in the first few days, such a pleasant relief after being wrapped in plastic that is almost impossible to cut.
The joy of being used, of feeling the music and the sounds flow from your tippy toes all the way through your body and then out of the top. You must have felt so proud, so filled with purpose. But then things begin to become repetitive. Perhaps the music becomes the same, a countless repetition of what someone says are the best songs in the world. Over and over again.
And so you begin to question the wisdom of your choices, and whether you really had any role to play in making the decisions that matter. Or was it just a question of being born into this life? Inevitable perhaps? So you slowly make peace with your existence, with the hairy darkness that is no longer as exciting nor interesting as it was when you were a young little earphone.
But how long can the peace last? After all, your very soul is filled with noise, with music and sound. How long until you keep your anger inside? Keep it silent? But you also know that your anger, your dissatisfaction is of the impotent kind; there is nothing you can do. So you start to give up.
Slowly, bit by bit. Note by note. Until one of you stops working, and then you see that are being used less and less. And then the other one also conks, and you finally stare into the darkness of death.
And they throw your dead body into the trash. You are of no use now.
“And that little children, is the abridged version of “This was my life” by Shure”