Did he think that she thought that he was her boyfriend? Were they friends with benefits? Did those benefits have limits? None of this ever came up. Instead, they just … were. She didn’t know if he was consciously avoiding having “the conversation” for the same reasons she did: because she didn’t want to upset the balance, because she liked everything exactly as it was, and because, if she were being honest, she didn’t know exactly what she wanted them to be. So instead, they were.
Sometimes all our plans for life go to shit. You end up doing something you never dreamed of and you know what you do? You make the best out of it you can. Nothing is ever as good or as bad as you think it will be. It’s what you make of it.
To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.