He lay awake that night – listening to the sound of her soft, steady breathing – a gentle sighing as the rain fell like tiny feet running over the canvas. She was so like her it was uncanny – her smile, her laugh, the way she looked at him just so – it sent shivers down his spine. And now she was here, lying next to him – a clone, an imago of the one he had lost.

They’d met a few times – usually at other friend’s parties. He’d never noticed until this evening – as the party had wound down in the meadow up from the beach – that they could have been sisters. He’d grown awkward, fawning over her and laughing at her stories – painfully aware he was drawing on the pleasure of her company like the rediscovery of an old, dangerous addiction.

And now – sharing a space in the corner of a hastily slung up tent, he found himself crying over this living image who played the same music to his soul as the one who had broken his heart.