Ficly

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It’s not the faerie of youth
that captures, my soul
It’s the trail of glitter-dust it leaves
with each gentle wing beat,
like its personal Milky Way.

I once tried to grab it
and I found myself floating in the cosmos
inexplicably blissful, dreaming
floating on air.

Sometimes, it’s better
to ride on shooting stars
than stop and explain them.

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