Ophelia

She needed to escape the city. Throngs of wooden men crowding the broad and winding streets suffocated her. Metallic air forced her to take short, stunted breaths. The glassy eyes of everyone around her reflected no humanity, only herself. She was alone and wanted to be more alone, so she took off her shoes and stockings and started towards the setting sun, the last chance at light.

It was the roar of the sea that finally beckoned her to stop, and so she did. She stood facing the water, looking into the empty richness of the horizon, and the knot in her soul began to unravel. The loving wind caressed her face and gently loosened the yellow scarf around her neck; the tired sun reaching for repose still tenderly warmed her skin; and the sea, the friendly sea, began to speak to her. But, before long, realizing her guard was drawing down, she had to make sure.

She asked the sea, "Do you have an opinion of me?"
The sea answered, "I crash here and ripple there but you, I love you as you are, and will let you be."
She asked the sea, "Will you disappoint me?"
The sea answered, "I am what I am, wild and free, beautiful as can be, and will always be."

Satisfied with his answers, she spoke with him for a while longer, enjoying a warmth of company she had long forgotten. When she returned to her flat that night, she began speaking to the chair, and found the same comfort.