How would love feel like once it comes again? Would it taste like strawberry kissed by Nutella, ever sweet with just the right tinge of sourness that melts in your mouth almost? Would it seem like the trauma after an assault, where one becomes frantically aware of what he or she has and can’t lose and so he or she keeps looking back to ensure no one gets to lurch from behind in attempt to steal their joy? Would it be like Eleanor and Park, with all the giddy, rollercoaster-y feelings and uncertainties of most people’s teenage years? Would it be all hormones, Fifty Shades of Grey-ish even? Would it be like a tranquil walk at a park or a crazy dash to the finish line? Will it feel steady and peaceful and calm as a beautiful spring night? Would it remind of a song that one keeps in his or her heart, the kind one sings aloud or dances to in the shower? Would it feel like coming home? Would it feel like being who you are, flaws and all, is more than enough and just that matters? Would it feel right? Would it seem true and real and surreal in a good yet scary way? How would it touch a heart that has long forgotten what it feels like? Will the answer be known at all, and will one be prepared when it actually does?