everything does everything and is produced everywhere.

after Leeuwenhoek, we realized that things were much smaller than we imagined, and we've busied ourselves ever since detailing the infinite number of tiny moving parts that make up our world and ourselves. we've become so fascinated at our ability to reduce, that we have almost been able to convince ourselves that love is a flush of seretonin and oxytocin and dopamine, or a broken heart, their nadir. perhaps the truth is that when someone's heart starts beating pat-pat-pat at the first rings of her telephone, that these hormones are not love's explanation, but rather the residue it leaves as it passes through her, to him.