It's been a long while ever since I 've written to you.

Not ever since that day.

People would call it a "fateful" day. Whatever was put together by fate should be torn apart by fate. Seems fitting for some.

I know you aren't one of those people. You'd probably say something along the lines of "It's my fault. I'm sorry." After all, there's nothing else we could do but point fingers.

But really, it's probably my fault.

I couldn't be there with you, all the way. That's it. Plain and simple. No excuses anymore. Just plain regret.

Maybe it is really fate, pulling our strings apart?

It would be comforting, wouldn't it; to just pin the blame on something you couldn't see? Just to put a little weight off our backs, at least for a split second.

Oh love, I don't know how to do this anymore…would it be better to let you be, or continue on loving you?

Even though I know you'll be with someone else?

Even though I'll always be your bass guitar to the melody of your life? The afterthought, the forgotten building blocks?

I guess this is fate, isn't it? Or something else.

All these questions, but no answers.

You remember those nights on the oak behind the school? We'd usually try to study, but instead we'd just be asking questions.

I guess this will be one of them.

Too many questions, not enough answers.

…

I don't know what else to say.

I guess I'll just give a story of mine. Something I was working on for the website of mine. But I guess I'll just give it to you instead.

I think you need it more than I do.

"The Blue Penguin."

"By XXXXX."

"There was once a blue penguin down in Antarctica. Every one else was black and white, and they didn't know what to do with a penguin with the wrong dress code."

"So they kept him around, treating him like one of them, but not exactly like one of them."

"Everyone was awed by him, and also scared of him. They didn't know what to think about him."

"As for the blue penguin? He felt all right, though a bit lonely. You could see it in his movements: there was always an inner sorrow in each and every one of them."

"He would be the attraction of the ladies: not to be loved, but to be gaped at, to compare his sea-blue coat with their glossy black ones. And everyday, everyone would go to sleep feeling better about their glossy black coats."

"One female decided to see what the blue penguin really was, not just by the coat, but as a penguin. So one day, she approached him."

"The blue penguin didn't know what to do. Nobody had ever approached him before to talk to him, just to ogle at him. But later on, the two became comfortable."

"A few months later, it was mating season. Everyone expected the blue penguin and his female to mate."

"But he was gone."

"His friend tried looking for him, but he couldn't be found. Not anymore."

"And so, his friend waited. And waited. And waited some more."

"Until, finally, the blue penguin came back. But he wasn't blue anymore: he was black, just like every other penguin."

"The formerly-blue penguin became the sensation of the entire Antarctica, but the friend never knew what to do after that."

"And so, the friend waited."

"They say she's still there."

Good bye love.

[Message returned to sender.]