The ocean moved so slowly as she gazed at it.  Time slowed with each wave that was born, lived, and died within the seconds that felt like minutes.  The seagulls chirped, singing out their foreign songs.  And oh, how she wished to join them!  To spread her wings and fly away with only songs of love in her heart.  But the only songs she knew now were melancholy.  Every time she laid her hands on ivory keys, or she opened her mouth, only sorrow was played, such sorrow that made even the most joyful hearts feel saddened.  Her cuts and bruises stung, a memory of the love she thought existed, but doubt had clouded her mind.  How childish of her!  To feel that pain, real pain, an agony that would constantly remain with her, and to still expect the love that she had given him in return?  These were false hopes that arose under her breast every time he smiled at her, a trap door that she was tricked by every time.  And she would fall down, down so far with every bruise and every cut he inflicted upon her.  Her tears had given birth to the ocean, her blood had made the Red Sea.  And yet she always stayed, hiding away in that apartment, with no one but the rodents and insects to converse with.  Until today.  Today she pulled herself away, cutting the binds that connected her to this dreadful horrid place, stuffed with memories and dreams that cannot come true.  With one last sigh, one that became the sea breeze all around her, she stepped into the tide.  And as the wave rolled back, she did too; her soul the color blue, and her voice the seagulls that flew by.