There is so much we will never know about other people, no matter how much we love them, or how much time we spend with them. We can know all of their mannerisms, know intimately their bodily odours, the schedule they shit on, recognise the very scent of their wind. Some people think this takes all the mystery, all the magic, out of a life together, but there will remain inexorably something unreachable about them. Try as we may, we grasp and can’t lay hold of their essence; there is always something that escapes.
