“ He’d stopped trying to bring her back.                 She only came back when she felt like it, in dreams and lies and broken-down déjà vu.                 Like, he’d be driving to work, and he’d see a girl with golden-brown hair with slim and long legs standing on the corner–and he’d swear, for a half choking moment, that it was her.                 Then, he’d see that the girl’s hair was more curly than straight.                 And that she was holding a cigarette.