Mist

Like ribbons of smoke on the brow of dawn, they do not dance to your rhythm but to the beating of their hearts.

Innocently they ride, a flock on angels’ wings, until they fill the sky with their light: white dissolved in cornflower blue.

They love to charm the air, to swoop with the eagles and dance with the waves. But as night lingers by, they fleetingly bid their byes and depart, falling as showers of blessing and diamond tears.

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Author: Jessica Y

Economics student at the University of Cambridge. Aspiring data scientist.

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