Stephanie Klein's Greek Tragedy

"Love is what I need to help me know my name."
–Seal

Seal should be clubbed. The message of "Love’s Divine" is as antediluvian as a monogrammed oven mitt. It’s very Tess of the d’Urbervilles, or even Jane Eyre–the idea that out of two hearts, they beat as one. I hate this. Every single reference to two heads on one pillow, united as one, and then the glorified belief that we’ll feel complete (Thanks, Cameron) with another. Adam’s rib.

Rolling eyes.

Love is what I need to help me know my name??? You’ll tell me who I really am?
The worst of it is this: grown women drive around town and sing along. By grown women, I mean me. For about three seconds. And then I wanted to drive into a wall. Instead, I switched stations and realized that I’ve yet to find a good alternative station out there. Maybe it’s time to upgrade to Sirius. To a show where it’s not just compelling talk and guests. A show dedicated only to songs with good lyrics. Lyrics that move you. Lyrics so sly, you wish they’d been yours. A turn of phrase that catches you by surprise and in that moment just solidified an emotion you had no other means of expressing. I believe in love, the power of it to transcend every bit of reason and every forlorn circumstance. I believe in a lover driven to change. I believe in chasing down taxicabs, hoping to get to her as quickly as possible. In grabbing the arm of a stranger, hoping to pull her into an embrace, only for her to turn around with "Watch it, Jerk," learning you’d mistaken her for the one person you want most. But let’s be clear. It’s want. Not need.