“Why did I ever think I wanted something so spectacular – that I was deserving of something so special in my life – when what makes me happy is so ordinary, so entirely banal? This – this – that it is me he reaches for in the night, unconsciously. The feel of his arm, heavy, across my back in the dark.”

“Why did I ever think I wanted something so spectacular – that I was deserving of something so special in my life – when what makes me happy is so ordinary, so entirely banal? This – this – that it is me he reaches for in the night, unconsciously. The feel of his arm, heavy, across my back in the dark.”

— Imogen Crimp