It rains. I wait for the bus with my books tight against my chest, my arms turned a cadaverous pale shade. People talk to me, but I don't really care. I don't like them; they don't amuse me like you did.

I wanted you to be here with me on my first day. I wanted to be able to sit with you at lunch and tell you all about my horrible teachers. Like the Spanish teacher who thinks I'm a complete retard for mixing up "Como estas" and "Como te llamas". It's not my fault I'm rusty at Spanish.

The bus pulls up. I get in and we got to your school. You aren't there waiting. What was I expecting? For you to be my loyal dog? I suppose in a sense I was. You always hung off my arm, and I held firm.

I had to hang off some other person's arm this morning. I called them "the new you" and they laughed. If only there was someone who could really replace you. I ached for you the whole day.

I walk in the rain. Normally I wouldn't waste time taking the long way, but I do. I see myself in a puddle, my reflection blurred by the trees above me.

Perhaps a smarter being would have mused on the finality of death and the obscurity of life, but all I can think of is you. I want you to be here with me to watch the rain fall and create little bubbles and never ending ripples. I want you to come to my house and make hot chocolate.

Although it's not like I'll make hot chocolate when I get home anyway. I don't drink hot chocolate unless I'm in company. And I long for company. Your company, Her company. Even, maybe, His company.

My new clothes that I find on the table when I get inside mean nothing to me without an audience to try them out on. You were the perfect audience.

The rain has stopped outside. I begin to cry a little. Just enough to curl my lips back and blur my vision. The halls are nothing without you. The bus wait is nothing without you. This year will be nothing without you.

And I hold a longing in my heart. I miss you, silently and painfully.