Wind whistles through ropes, and the bells tangle with gulping breath. All words caught there. And her heart caught there too.
You can sit on the quay, and stare out at the water. You can sit on the quay and forget you are nobody's daughter.

Cleo thinks:
I am alone
I am free

She thinks:
"Through the clouds I'll never float
until I have a little boat
Shaped like the crescent moon."

She read that someplace, sometime.
The past is just a pile of blank paper.
Her memories are a load of made-up stories.