But a part of me lies buried in lace and roses on a riverbank in France-a part of me is broken off forever. A part of me will be unflyable, stuck in the climb.

Southampton's barrage balloons floated gleaming in the moonlight like the ghosts of elephants and hippos.

We are a sensational team.

A part of me will always be unflyable, stuck in the climb.

But I have told the truth. Isn't that ironic? They sent me because I am so good at telling lies. But I have told the truth.

I think that what I do is a form of pathetic fallacy, the literary trope in which nature is in sympathy with the mood of the story. I connect the physical setting and props in the story to the emotional state of the characters.

Hope is treacherous, but how can you live without it?