She's gone. Over the falls. Small and dark, like the punctuation at the end of a sentence. He may be reaching out over the rail.

But he never really tried to catch her.

Because he expected her to fly.

And when she disappears from view, he closes his eyes and sees her flying. The whole world peeling back from her skin. The tears in her shoulders where the wings come out.

She is skimming the grass. Close enough to snap the heads off flowers. And.

She is pulling up into the wounded sky. Past the rail. And her face.

Her face could make the ocean ache.

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