" But to think about Eric, now, after these years of pain, is to contemplate something incomprehensible to me. Separation. Of course I’ve thought about it. We both have. We’ve even done it. But because I’ve spoken the words, because I’ve lived without him for a period of time, doesn’t mean I understand it. Eric’s right, I don’t think about our marriage that much, not in the way I think about being in bed with D. But it’s for the same reason I don’t ponder my veins, or the floor of my room. I don’t ponder because I don’t even see the world without it. It’s too big, or buried too deep, with edges that thin out to nothingness, binding itself to everything else. It’s embedded in my dark, precious flesh. "

― Julie Powell , Cleaving: A Story of Marriage, Meat, and Obsession