Her dress swung as she moved her body and the soft rope of her hair tossed from side to side. Every morning I lay on the floor in the front parlour watching her door.  The blind was pulled down to within an inch of the sash so that I could not be seen. When she came out on the doorstep my heart leaped. I ran to the hall, seized my books, and followed her. I kept her brown figure always in my eye and, when we came near the point at which   our ways diverged, I quickened my pace and passed her.  This happened morning after morning. I had never spoken to her, except for a few casual words, and yet her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood …. Her name sprang to my lips at moments in strange prayers and praises which I myself did not understand. My eyes were often full of tears (I could not tell why) and at times a flood from my heart seemed to pour itself out into my bosom.  I thought little of the future.   I did not know whether I would ever speak to her or not or, if I spoke to her, how I could tell her of my confused adoration. But my body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires.

From “Araby,” by James Joyce

In these few masterful sentences, the reader can sense the level of infatuation and shyness that a young boy experiences when he believes that he has fallen in love for the first time.  Joyce describes the protagonist’s agony as he tries to understand feelings alien to every emotion that he has ever felt.  Perhaps, this is the way we always fall in love. We gives shape to our intended beloved in our mind and bestow upon this person the qualities and even beauty that will fulfill our ideals.