I want to know what love is. I want you to show me.
Foreigner

It made sense as a teenager, this sentiment. That somehow you will find someone to help you define love. And then, of course, get laid. Because that's what Lou Gramm was really singing about. It just sounds sweeter in power ballad form.

I'm not sure if I ever went out seeking love. But I found it a few times. Stumbled upon it. Found myself in wide-eyed wonder at the glory of another human creature. And I miss it sometimes. It's pretty exciting when it happens. New worlds to explore. Something to make you smile when everything else sucks. Someone to tell you what you want to hear. And then what you need to hear.

I miss the obsession of new love. The single-minded blood rush. The anticipation. The clutch.

Last night my band played Valentine's Eve (actually, it was Valentine's Early Morning by the time we got on stage). Playing mostly breakup songs, we got the crowd into it. Dancing, hooting and drinking. Afterwards--like most Saturday nights, but maybe this one in particular--there were the desperate eyes of those who really didn't want to go home alone. Not tonight.

And some were very vocal about it. Yes, they were drunk...and most of them were women. The men tend to be silent and resigned if they're alone at the end of the night. Although sometimes they get into fights (gotta touch somebody). But women dance their desperation dance more publicly. Probably because they know one of those silent guys will hear their plea. Answer their loud prayer to the love gods for at least one night.

Love, like most emotions, has degrees. All love is not the same. The only thing that makes sense about love is that you'll know it when you feel it. I'll never argue with someone who claims to be in love. Arguing ifs buts and wherefores makes no sense to the person in love. Trying to tell them it's just lust or loneliness or something else is just stupid. Love is what you believe love to be.

So today, on Valentine's Day, everyone who has a love will be showing this love in some way. Even those obsessed with someone who does not love them back. The day triggers something in people much like a religious fever. Chocolates and flowers and expensive dinner packages. Watches and necklaces and artificial body odors. Lipsticks, chains and whips.

By the way, my band's ode to bondage? Big hit last night.

I remember getting (my mom bought them, I'm sure) those packages of little Valentine's Day cards for everyone in class. My classic move was to give everyone (boys and girls) a V-Day card. But the girls I had a crush on, I thought carefully about which card I picked. And what little note I put on it. Even if this never resulted in a girlfriend back then. Probably okay since Elementary school is a little early to get down and dirty. I didn't even know what down and dirty was.

But I felt the twinge. The push. The pull.

I don't remember having a good Valentine's Day, and so pretty much ignored them past college. I've had great birthdays, but two weeks later whatever was great about the birthday (girl-wise) had somehow passed into the ether.

How deep is my love? Depends on the night.

I do know this. I didn't sleep much last night. I wrote a completely different column in my head while I couldn't sleep, and I was naming names and talking about these girls and women I loved once. It's a new moon, the absence of our night light. And that probably describes my romantic love quotient at the moment.

But you know what? I've got left over birthday candy and wine and a whole day off. Chances are I'm gonna sleep pretty good tonight.

Matt Worley ain't no fool for love. At least right now.