Quotes from Cathy Coote

cold glassy surface of reality. I saw the gentle bookish boy you must have been, made old with tedium, wasted effort, unacknowledged kindnesses. I saw the tired, struggling righteousness of you. You were starving for want of love. You were a delicate, civilised changeling, raised among barbarians and apemen.

Your desire for me was like a physiological weakness, a sort of epilepsy. I needed to see you in its grip more than I needed to eat.