The dictionary says, Love is -- "A deep, tender, ineffable feeling of affection and solicitude toward a person, such as that arising from kinship, recognition of attractive qualities, or a sense of underlying oneness."
But then is this all that love is? Love is commonly considered impossible to describe. So will we ever have an exact definition or a rule book with details on how to fall in love, the symptoms, the medication and proper guidance? But despite of not having that rulebook, we all do fall in love... and, I think I have too.
But then I am not sure if I am ready to call it Love... I do not know, is this feeling as confusing as it is to me? I know I like him, but is the question is, is this Love? They say that I am putting too much thought to it, not giving the feeling enough chances to grow on its own...but they also say that only fools rush in... and I should think about it....so what am I supposed to do? I do not know of flowery words, all I know is that this is real... as real as rain drops falling on my window pane and in his stupid lane...
But if it is as real as rain, the why am I so confused about this feeling? Is it normal? Is it supposed to be this way? Its not as if I have not fallen in love before, but this time its different, there is also a sense of respect and responsibility towards that special someone...I want to be with him, but there are times when I do not even want to see his face...anger, is it? or is it jealousy, as some tell me? Maybe, it is both, maybe it is nothing....I do not know how to describe it.. this strange feeling....
May be it is Love!
Then said Almitra, "Speak to us of Love."
And he raised his head and looked upon the people, and there fell a stillness upon them. And with a great voice he said:
When love beckons to you follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.
For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.
Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.
All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.
But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.
When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, I am in the heart of God."
And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.
Love has no other desire but to fulfil itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.
---- The PROPHET, by Kahlil Gibran