The name of the whale is "52 Hertz," and the name is unfortunately not the greatest tragedy attributed to this creature. Y'see 52 is named after the sound he makes... a mournful sound at quick intervals, vibrating at 52 Hertz. This sound makes our friend the whale exceptional--perhaps one of a kind. Because most other baleen whales sing a song at around 15-25 hertz.
How nice, you might think. He's got a one of a kind voice. Like Beyonce, you might add. But the problem 52's got is that he just doesn't speak the language of other whales. Where you might hear the dulcet tones of a calling lover and come running, other whales hear 52's voice and don't think much of it. To them it's as alluring as, I don't know, a distant lawnmower. They just don't see it as much of a turn on.
But 52 doesn't know this. So he just keeps swimming. He's out there right now, in fact. Somewhere out in the briny black depths of the all but endless seas. They've been tracking him for 20 years. And he just keep swimming. He sings and he sings but the other whales... they just don't come calling. So he swims alone. Without a mate. Without a friend. Just... swimming.
One can't help but relate. Maybe, we ask ourselves when we wander the streets alone on a cold night, we just aren't giving the right signal. Maybe our lonely brains operate on the wrong frequency. Maybe everyone else is getting the message and singing along, and we just can't hear it. Can't operate the same. Maybe we'll just be swimming the black seas alone.