I think, what he taught me, was that men only fall in love with crazy women.
This isn't about men and their problems. It might go both ways, but since I deal in the world of heterosexual men I can't really say. I'll ask around. Maybe people only fall for the crazies. He, She, They, It.

I know not a pscyhiatrist in the world will back me up on this and only books I would be prone to despise would revoice this opinion, but empirically what I have experienced is that swoon worthy, crazy, head over heals, project all your thoughts and dreams kinda fall is seldom bestowed on those who share our definition of sanity.

That is not to say that love is reserved for the bat shit insane. I think all sort of deep, serious, or even not so serious love is had between perfectly reasonable people. I think there is more than a wealth of information, empirical and academic to show that sustaining love can be had in the land of the sane.

But this is about the fall. And what I learned was that you can meet a man who have everything in common with, who can practically seem your soul mate for the ideological and emotional and intellectual and physical commonalities that you share. That you can have amazing conversation, incredible sex, and that they may come to think of you as one of the greatest people you will ever know but that he will not fall in love with you. Not really. You won't do that for him, not if you are what he thinks of as sane. as reasonable, as understandably demonstrably cohesively normal in the head.

Helen Fischer has conjectured about the wild ride conducive to romantic love and maybe this has something to do with it. Maybe we can't really fall for someone we intrinsically and completely understand because it doesn't make room for all the romantic projections necessary to think it is a perfect idea to drive across town in the middle of the night and crawl into bed with someone even though you work in three hours and they won't put out anyway.

Maybe it is something far more fucked up about the space we preserve in our head for fairy tales and our own definitions and what we learn in the end about the chasm between friend and lovers.

But I do know that the moment any man, and especially that man, noted they could trust me, guessed I could understand them, knew I was tried and true totally and completely sane by their standards I no longer had a chance. They might spend time with me, give me their time and their all, and even key and important pieces of their mind, but their heart would go to another muse that would give them a reason to live or die in loves glorious inferno.