He loved her; in some ways he was devoted to her. But he couldn’t reach her, and it was the same on her side. It was as if they’d drunk some fatal potion that would keep them forever apart, even though they lived in the same house, ate at the same table, slept in the same bed.
What would that be like— to long, to yearn for one who is right there before your eyes, day in and day out? I’ll never know."
— Margaret Atwood