When did it happen, how did it happen? What lonely hour did dawn break into the dark vaults of the firmament high? When did the storm-cloud tiptoe across the arid sky? Was it that night of the festival of lights, when you nudged past the crowds to stand by my side? That winter when the moon shone across the desolate snow, to rhythms of dew dripping from distant tiles? Or the days after the storms when I discovered that vulnerable you beneath your chiseled cloak of practiced calm? How does the spring bring mourning valleys to flower in the smiles of a thousand vines? O cherished mystery, when did this feeling, deeper than sorrow, unmoved by pain, mightier than weakness, stronger than the bruises from a hundred lies that line the course of this chequered life, how did this arise, anticipant joy of a journey nigh? Bonds of lives past, is this how ye come alive? That very first day when hello-eyes smiled?