Bright Star: Falling into Purple Flowers

“I almost wish we were butterflies and lived but three summer days–three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain” John Keats

Last night while sitting in my night class, I stumbled upon my fascination with vintage and John Keats when my professor showed us the film Bright Star. The vintage pink clothes, letters, poetry, and romance…I was in heaven! Truly amazing. I took romantic literature last semester, studying the famous John Keats and his love for Nature, or rather Fanny. If only he could have lived longer than just his twenties! I’ve tried and tried to pinpoint exactly what it is about a love like Keats and Fanny, where it only goes as far as a kiss and a private walk together on a wooded trail with each step sounding like a heart beat.

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Where falling in love with the girl next door is knocking on the wall to see if the other will reply. Placing your desk in front of the wall as if seeing her while working on his poetry. I have come to realize that, like poetry, you cannot pinpoint one thing, or try to make a meaning out of it. It just is! Keats tries to explain poetry to Fanny, then realizes he cannot. This is because he doesn’t understand women because of his fascination with them, or rather just her, much like my fascination with vintage and love. Don’t over think what is. It is beautiful because you are in it, not making meaning of it.

This love in Bright Star is the collection of letters that shows the hope one holds onto when they are in love. So in love, you fall back into a field filled with purple flowers after reading a letter from your love, and the scent of Jasmine reminds you of the bloom. The bloom when he was here. When Fanny lays down into those purple flowers and holds onto her little sister, it reminds me how much love really does exist, and it’s simple. As simple as Nature! That’s the secret to it all, quoting Keats, “If poetry comes not as naturally as the leaves to a tree it had better not come at all.” Poetry is as simple as Nature. Therefore, love is as simple as Nature, falling into a field filled with purple flowers.

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