Love is one hell of a way to ensure reproduction of the species.

You can back-fill the logic later; you can send love letters and postcards, but at the end of the day you’re just planting seeds and watching them grow, plowing fields and digging furrows according to the lay of the land. We all work for the big D here, DNA writ large over the entire field of human endeavor no matter how you spell it, watching and waiting with all the patients in the world. God works in strange ways, the end of all paths, the beginning of all endeavors. God picks up where Ego leaves off, soothing the fried and battered soul, feeding the famished affections. If I could understand it, then it wouldn’t be God.