"You must know what it's like to be in love." I glared at the enquirer, incensed at the possible insinuations, daring an exposition before I decide on a suitable death ray.
"I mean... how do you know when you are...?".
Tchee! Such trivia, such... silliness!
But on reflection, there is some validity to the question even if it is trivial. Indeed, how does one know...? So many people go through life without ever searching for it. Some try to philosophise about it. Others write songs about it.
I know of some who hope to find it, thinking about how it could be, should be or even might be for them. Some of them end up spending their lives ever thinking, dreaming about it. Perhaps then, for these thinkers and dreamers, the answer to knowing when they find it, lies within their search for it.
In their ever searching and ever dreaming, perhaps they know that they have found their love when they find it difficult to fall asleep, or even unwilling to fall asleep.
They feel so because for the first time, their reality is much better than what they've been dreaming about...
Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me,
Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee;
Sounds of the rude world heard in the day,
Lull'd by the moonlight have all pass'd a way!
Beautifil dreamer, queen of my song,
List while I woo thee with soft melody;
Gone are the cares of life's busy throng,
Beautiful dreamer awake unto me!
Beautiful dreamer, out on the sea
Mermaids are chaunting the wild lorelie;
Over the streamlet vapors are borne,
Waiting to fade at the bright coming morn.
Beautiful dreamer, beam of my heart,
E'en as the morn on the streamlet and sea;
Then will all clouds of sorrow depart,
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!
Stephen Foster (1826-64)
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