This reminds me of how much I love the autumn season in New England; the leaves can be the most sparkly golden orange, but if there's no "dewy, crisp" factor in the air, it's like a painting. I see it, but I'm not experiencing it.
I once heard a funny (and gross lol) saying: "Love and happiness are like farts: if you have to force them, they're probably poop."
Bottom line: sounds like you should file for a divorce. Or at the very least, a trial separation.