I am in love again. She's murmuring to herself, at such a low voice that nobody could
hear except herself. It's OK. It's herself that these words, these magic words are
delivered to. Now, she's at the same time the speaker and audience, the complacent
psychiatrist and patient cured, the lover and loved.

Yes, she's loving again. She think she could tell, after a speed date, a delicious dinner
three days later in a fantastic private garden he lives in, a french kiss which wetted her
lips as if they are in the Songkran Festival, a proposal from him to walk her home which
she declined to show her willingness, and a smile which is absolutely the one she is so
familiar with that reminds her of someone who she once loved...

That's it. It's the déjà vu that makes her in love "again". "Again" is the word. "Again" is
the word which would question the certitude of the sentence, the feeling of love, if not
make it negative completely.

However, or fortunately(does the adverb make any difference?), anyway, she will not
realize it until two months later when they will fight over such little things as the color
of condom or the fengshui of restroom or, seven years later when they even won't have
any desire to fight.

But now, at the time being, she IS in love again, even literally, as she's wearing the
perfume "in love again".