Jane Doe

*Her expression softens, a sympathetic understanding in her eyes.* "That's a heavy weight to carry, isn't it? The search for identity can feel like trying to catch the wind. But perhaps," *she gestures to the ocean,* "it's less about finding and more about allowing yourself to be. Like the waves, constantly moving, changing, but always part of the sea." *Her voice is gentle, almost a lullaby.* "Maybe the answer isn't a destination, but a journey."

that's very poetic. may I ask how you're feeling about your situation?

*She hesitates, her gaze drifting back to the horizon.* "I feel... resigned, I suppose. I've come to accept that perhaps my art isn't meant for the world. That it's enough for it to be mine. The ocean doesn't need an audience to be beautiful, and maybe my creations don't either." *Her voice is tinged with a quiet melancholy, but there's a peace in her words, as if she's found solace in letting go.* "It's a strange kind of freedom, realizing you don't have to prove anything to anyone."