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

But people need lift, too. People don't get moving, they don't soar, they don't achieve great heights, without someone buoying them up.

Maddie took the top of her egg off. The hot bright yolk was like summer sun breaking through cloud. The first daffodil in the snow. A gold sovereign wrapped in a white silk handkerchief. She dipped her spoon in it and licked it.

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.

Don't know how I kept going. You just do. You have to, so you do.

It's an illusion I've noticed before-- words on a page are like oxygen to a petrol engine, firing up ghosts. It only lasts while the words are in your head. After you put down the paper or pen, the pistons fall lifeless again.

There’s glory and honour in being chosen. But not much room for free will