Sometimes I feel a bit out of the loop. Somehow I always end up not quite fitting in. Why is it so that I've always been the one who must go? Hearing their words and laughter reminds me one last time of New Year's at yours, a future so certain yet I sensed only its end. It's your birthday tomorrow. Happy birthday. I won't send a letter, just a short email. It'll be a sort of goodbye for me, though you'd never tell. I know even now you won't reply, and in a way I think that's a good thing.