The curious and paradoxical existence of a missing piece

Laying on her stomach, she turned her head to face her right. Her right arm slid down towards her hip, while her left slid under her, now extending right, bent just so at the elbow to create a cradle in which to rest her head and stare at her lover.

He laid on his right side - already facing her - with his knees curled up slightly. His elbows were tucked such that his hands loosely masked his face.

As she manipulated her body into its new position, her hand came impossibly close to his. These hands - all too familiar with the textures, ridges, and contours of the other - were unable to make contact. A barrier had formed between them, as insurmountable as the ocean that once drank the sun. To sail the centimeters from hand to hand would take spirit.

In that, he found himself lacking. Whatever part of him once constituted spirit had gone in search of that mysterious piece, and he lay...