Our Wives Under the Sea

by Julia Armfield

The sea lung moved very slightly, leading me to feel that the ground I stood on might be moving, too, might be less substantial than I assumed. I pressed my free hand to my chest and wondered how solid that could really be, how tangible anything about me might really be.

Something I find incredibly boring, Sam said, is everyone’s conviction that love is different for them. Somehow harder. Do you know what I mean? I just don’t think it’s that complicated, honestly—if you’re with the wrong person, it’s hard. It’s just another way of thinking you’re special, the way everyone does when they’re a teenager. You think you aren’t able to love, except that of course you are. You think you aren’t able to love correctly or the same as everyone else, except that of course you are, you just haven’t had a chance to do it yet. You’re not special, you’re just waiting.