Fools fall in love because there is no other way to go about it. All the bending and twisting and angling that must occur is a fool’s errand at best. In a decade or two they will each wonder who was the greater fool to end up in this ridiculous state. But they will have been fooled again.
Love is not static. Love is not refined. Love is a mystic vine bending, twisting, angling redefining itself every long day ensnaring even old fools because love is willing to live in the absurd even if it lives just a little.