We were out on his porch curled on the papasan couch under the quiet heavy night sky. A small down blanket covered us, our limbs and bodies entwined, the cool breeze blew across our faces from time to time. We fit together nicely - pieced together against one another without discomfort or awkward angles. His eyes closed, his face placed gently between my neck and shoulders. I stroked his thick black hair and wondered why he didn't make my stomach churn like he used to. Our conversations were easy and comfortable. Our lips remembered how to kiss. He was more attractive than I remembered. "I missed this," he murmured as I lay on top of him, my tongue tracing his neck, his lips. He didn't miss me. We spooned, again pieced together effortlessly and comfortably, and he gently kissed my shoulders and the back of my neck, raising goosebumps on my arms, over and over again. "I had forgotten how soft your skin is," he whispered to me.
I wasn't overwhelmed with passion. I just felt like I had returned to normal. It was easy and comfortable, and in the quiet night with our bodies curled up against each other, I knew what it meant to feel truly content.
"I don't know what role he plays in my life. It was fine - we were comfortable, I enjoy his company. We're good companions for one another. I just don't know, if it were ever possible, if we could date. We never had the chance to. So why is he in my life? What role does he play in my life?"
"He's your lover," she said thoughtfully.
I recoiled from the word at first. "Um, well," I stammered. My mind tried to grasp this concept.
"Yeah, I guess you're right. A lover."