He longed
to reach out and touch her.
Just the simplest of touches would do; the back of his hand brushing her arm as they passed each other in the doorway, the feel of her hair between his fingertips, the gentle angle of her jaw against his skin as he traced it with his index finger.
Skin on skin.
He wanted it so badly that his heart ached every time he saw her.
She was right in front of him, tempting him without doing a thing, and he couldn't truly have her.
To have her would kill her.
Cannot hold; cannot touch.
It was his curse and he knew that for the rest of his life and hers (if she could really call it her own), they'd be distanced by it.
They would never be completely together, nor would they be completely apart.