No-- that isn't an entirely new affair. It has been flourishing in episodes modestly accommodated among so many crashes and burns. But this time around, I can feel it surge in me..almost like love. Nah, like love alone.
I was reminded of this quote by him which appeared in the titles of "Loving Anabelle", in the shower this evening:
"For one human to love another: that's perhaps the most difficult of all our tasks, the work for which all other work is but preparation."
That makes so much sense to me right now, on this day. So let me just revel in this moment if you will excuse me!
And here's some more of Rilke.. this one indeed sits well with the mood.
You who never arrivedin my arms, Beloved, who were lostfrom the start,I don't even know what songswould please you. I have given up tryingto recognize you in the surging wave of the nextmoment. All the immenseimages in me-- the far-off, deeply-felt landscape,cities, towers, and bridges, and unsuspectedturns in the path,and those powerful lands that were oncepulsing with the life of the gods-all rise within me to meanyou, who forever elude me.You, Beloved, who are allthe gardens I have ever gazed at,longing. An open windowin a country house--, and you almoststepped out, pensive, to meet me. Streets that I chanced upon,--you had just walked down them and vanished.And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrorswere still dizzy with your presence and, startled,gave back my too-sudden image. Who knows?perhaps the same bird echoed through both of usyesterday, seperate, in the evening...You Who Never Came: Translated by Stephen Mitchell. 
