You're supposed to be able to tell a lot about someone from the way they react to a rainy day or tangled Christmas tree lights.
We've never had to deal with the lights, but you're always on edge when it rains; you can't sit still for long and you keep peeking through the curtains to see if it's stopped, even though we can still hear it drumming against the roof.
You told me once that when you were little, you would stay up all night when it rained because you couldn't get to sleep, and I told you that when I was little I thought I could hear the rain singing and little fingers tapping in time on my window, and my mind stopped spinning.
Sometimes I feel like my head is overcrowded, or just unusually small and can't handle anything bigger than small.
The one time when I tried to explain it to you, somewhere between my head and my lips, the words flipped themselves around and fell out of my mouth in knots, and you laughed because I was stumbling over my own words.
But then you grabbed my hands and pulled me towards you, and through the fabric of your favourite crew neck jumper, I could hear your heartbeat and my breath slowing to match it, and it didn't matter any more.
You were one of those people who were never wrong, and you had to be better than me at everything.
At the start I didn't mind. I didn't see the problem with letting you think you were right and I wasn't very good at anything in the first place.
We would spend hours together but they would pass in minutes.
You had a weird sense of humour and you thought things were funny when they actually weren't, but I laughed at anything and you thought my laugh was ridiculous so we were stuck in this perpetual circle. I liked it.
I avoided the people I used to spend all my time on and when I got stuck with them, I would count the seconds and rack my head for an excuse to escape.
We had been together for over half the year when I started feeling sick all the time.
I had no energy, even though I was eating more in an hour than I used to eat in a day. My tummy crept up on us.
We didn't really notice until it started getting in the way when I tried to hug you.
You left pretty soon after. You always left when you got angry.
After a while you stopped coming around as much. I guess you had more important things to do.
You would always say, ''See you later,'' every time. It sounds stupid now, but I believed you.
I would stay up all night waiting, and you never came.
My tummy grew out of proportion to the rest of my body and my legs found it hard to support. I couldn't stand up for long.
The bigger my tummy got, the busier you became. I never saw you any more.
I remember how I ran into you and Josh at the supermarket once and it was awkward.
You said something to Josh and kind of ushered me behind a massive display of baked beans.
You asked me if I was all right, but before I could figure out something happy to tell you, Josh coughed and talked to you with his eyes and you went to leave.
I grabbed your arm and you looked at me with your manipulative blue eyes for just a second.
You said you would come around later and we'd talk, before you gently stole your arm from my grip and followed Josh out of my life.
I waited for you again, I couldn't help myself. You always said I was gullible.
The rain came again that night, singing a song written only for me, and the thunder came later, whispering things from a million miles away, comforting me with words I couldn't understand.
It didn't matter though. It was the idea that it could be bothered with me that made me feel better.
My stomach rumbled a little and I pushed down on it gently to feel little kicks.
Smiling to myself, I forgot about you for a moment.
We were never meant to be. I was gullible and you were arrogant.
Years flew by, and although some part of you stayed in my heart, I think I've moved on.
Jacob is 4 years old and he can hear the rain singing to him as well.
It's Christmas in less than a week and he's perfected his letter to Santa, and spent hours with his tongue outside his mouth, drawing pictures of our family and wrapping them up to give to Nanna and Granddad, and me and Scruffy.
He's starting to look more like you every day.
He asked about you for the first time last week.
I told him that he did have a dad somewhere, but he was a very busy man.
He told me not to cry because he didn't want a dad anyway, and I laughed a little.
I scruffed up his hair with my hand and looked down at him.
He looked up with his massive grin and I felt my heart explode.
It makes me sad thinking that we never spent a Christmas together.
You're probably still ridiculously busy, running around in that stupid crew neck jumper you always wear.
And I'll probably never find out, but I can imagine you sitting under a bald Christmas tree, picking and tugging at the string of lights.
You'd be making the knots worse, but stubbornly persisting with your tongue outside your mouth and your knees tingling with pins and needles.
• By Shelby Cameron, Year 13, Cromwell College
