A woman decided to marry the sea.
“You can’t do that!” everyone insisted. But they couldn’t think of a reason why not.
The woman loved the sea. When she was calm its surface was placid, and when she was angry it roiled and raged. They were wed in a private ceremony, with only the gulls and the crabs as their witnesses.
The woman and the sea were happily married for many years, but eventually they grew apart. The woman changed. She prioritized different relationships and gained a new perspective on the brevity, and finality, of her life. The sea also changed. It warmed. It rose. It was placid when she felt angry and raged when she felt calm.
“You can’t divorce the sea!” everyone insisted. But they were really speaking of their own marriages.
Soon after their separation, when everyone had ceased to care, the woman considered what she’d learned about matrimony. “I don’t think I’ll ever marry again,” she mused to herself. “Why? What’s the point? But if I do — because, truly, one never knows — maybe next time we’ll live apart.”
The sea missed her desperately.
This is a repository for JY's original content that's yet to be bound in a book -- essays, short fiction, etc. There's little rhyme or reason, so jump in!