She trembles in the warm breeze, her toes lined up with the edge of the shingles. You don't know what to say, but she's waiting for your voice. Her eyes are closed and her hands are held out and she needs to know where you are so she can jump. Leaves crunch beneath your polished black shoes, but she can't hear it over the roar of the wind in her ears. You've got to make some noise. You've got to speak up.
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