“Bright Star” is about romance, and not the kind of romance I had with the California surfer-cum-documentary filmmaker le weekend passé. It is about the truest love that existed in 19th century England or probably ever ): the love between John Keats and his sassy, seamstress girl Fanny. I have never tried to kill myself because a boyfriend didn’t correspond with me because he was away on his summer rental with his bff, nor have I made my brother and sister fill the room with butterflies (dead or alive) to remind myself of my love. I am therefore convinced that I have never experience love at all and I will not settle until I find my own androgynous and tortured writer. It actually may not be that hard. Anyone who has seen this movie and not wept about it for hours, even days, I am totally convinced doesn’t have a feelings or even a soul. It makes me want to write poetry about my love for you, Den, but I know John Keats would say that women can’t write and I would probably agree.
Your Bright Star