What do you do when love seeps in through the pores on your skin so slow you almost didn’t feel it happen ?
Love is easy to qualify and/or quantify when it smacks you like a sledge hammer to the nuts or a poisoned adrenaline, Like a stick of raw dynamite, It bamboozles you, obviously, sending your being into shock, incapacitating your fight or flee instincts, rendering you wholly helpless and at the mercy of the tremors of the unforeseen assault.
It’s all about the words with her, be they the words of besotted poetic rishtwat-khor vying to win her beautiful hand, or the strategically-plucked words from handmaidens who know better. My sinf-e-Nazuk, as the imperious lady with a beautiful smile, impressively enunciates her finely chosen words with appropriately italic lilts, but even better, reacts with glorious grace to the words surrounding her, no matter what is said.
Falling in love by degrees, by choosing neither to fight nor flee but submit instead , however, is a completely different kind of disease. Its no less potent, mind you, but its infinitely better than accidental love.