"I am not sure, Edward, that I understand you;
And yet I understand as I never did before.
I think-I believe-you are being yourself
As you never were before with me.
Twice you have changed since I have been looking at you.
I looked at your face: and I thought that I knew
And loved every contour; and as I looked
It withered, as if I had unwrapped a mummy.
I listened to your voice, that had always thrilled me,
And it became another voice-no, not a voice,
What I heard was only the noise of an insect;
Dry, endless, meaningless, inhuman-
You might have made it by scraping your legs together.
Or however grasshoppers do it.
And listened for your heart, your blood;
And saw only a beetle the size of a man
With nothing more inside it than
What comes out
When you tread on a beetle.
No, I won't tread on you.
That is not what you are.
It is only what was left
Of what I had thought you were.
I see another person,
I see you as as person whom I never saw before.
The man I saw before, he was only a projection-
I see that now-of something that I wanted-
No, not wanted-something I aspired to-
Something that I desperately wanted to exist.
It must happen somewhere-but what and where is it?
Edward, I see that I was simple making use of you,
And I ask you to forgive me."
-Celia Copplestone, The Cocktail Party (1950)