The fresnels and chimeras mentioned in my new year's post must have done their job, because the raw footage of my screenplay's real life heroine looks great, and I'm moved by her love story all over again. Producer genius to have her read those wartime love letters out loud. You can almost imagine what it was like when she first received them seventy years ago.
Her love calls her "the girl of my past and the woman of my future." He'll wait for her, no matter what happens or how long it takes. Before any wedding, he calls her his wife, his life, and quite simply- everything. The black ink runs across each page with insistence, her fingers holding the words steady.
My love story is not quite five years old, less time than the war that kept these two apart. It may be only one of many means of communication these days, but writing to someone who lives in your house still feels essential. Handwritten, they somehow say so much more and do seem worth saving for the better part of a century. And if they're composed on etch-a-sketch, like the love note Joe made for for our little valentine this morning, I guess I'll just have to take a picture.
This is Caillou, surrounded with hearts. If you don't know who he is, don't google him. I'd like to save you from the theme song that's been stuck in my head for the last three months. He might as well be the Romeo to our 1 1/2 year old Juliet, and we've been urging their separation. Are we cruel? She's even said, "I love you, Caillou." So we sing his song and draw his picture in hopes that she won't have to actually watch him.
Here's to the more feasible love stories, the ones that are worth fighting (and writing) for.
Happy Valentine's Day