The rain miraculously stopped as she passed by, surrounded by gentle petals, honorably guarded - fitted for a true hero.
Million confetti, anxious in the sweaty palms of the bystanders are suddenly freed against the gentle breeze, soaring high, crying over the mother-of-democracy’s last parade.
The crowds are gone, EDSA is silent and finally the confetti soar no more, kissing the street, forever resting - their collective spirits forever seen in the clouds’ silver lining, their love for freedom sealed on the avenues’ battered asphalt. The yellow confetti is truly immortal
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Photos taken by the author Yodz Insigne.
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