He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week, my Sunday rest.

Dear Bumblebee,

Why did you leave me? What did I do?

Did I lavish too much attention on you? Did my repeated and rather incessant attempts to transform, to master your puzzling intricacies put you off? Minute after minute. Day after day. Week after week--for the very short, yet impassioned, time that we had together? For that, I cannot, I will not, apologize.

But did I fumble too much? Was I too awkward in my advances? That, I do regret. But I am only of the four and a half, and although I do apologize, wholeheartedly, I cannot redeem. Is it in my nature. I wish it weren't, for a deeply fear that my love paraded as abuse, and that, misunderstood, I have lost you.

Or maybe you heard another call. Perhaps from the AllSpark? Maybe you missed your fellow AutoBots and felt the longing for them that I now feel for you. For that I am sorry. For now that you have left me, now that I have lost you, either because of my own transgressions or your own loss, I know the pain of being torn from something that you love most. For I, like Rumi's reed, sing my song of separation.

Please hear my lament and return to me.

Nnnnnnooooooooowwwwww.

Eternally sorry and sorrowful,

Finn